


Sometimes

by Assassin_J



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: ...eventual father-son incest?, AC Kinkmeme, Accidental Voyeurism, Assassin's Creed III, Awkward Family Moments, Bisexual Bill Miles, Bleeding Effect, Close to Canon, Consensual Adult Incest, Desmond gets in touch with his bottomy side, Dream Non-Con, F/M, Game Dialogue, Implied/Referenced Group Sex, Light Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mind Fuckage, Older Man/Younger Man, Parent Sex, Porn with a side of feels, Pre-slash if you like, Prompt Fic, SMUTTY SMUT, and apparently you do like, from pre-slash to straight-up slash, i discovered the term ''Wrongshipping'' and that seems to fit here, incestual thoughts, so yeah pre-slash, some dom/sub stuff, that feel when you're starting to turn bi for your dad, the gayest het, when you can barely even get along with him
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-09
Updated: 2016-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-11 09:56:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,502
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3323213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Assassin_J/pseuds/Assassin_J
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes the Bleeding Effect wasn't all that bad.</p><p>Like this time, for example.</p><p>He wasn't reliving the execution of Ezio's family, or the suicide of Ahmad Sofian, or the fiery destruction of Kanatahséton.</p><p>Far from it.</p><p>He was experiencing the memories of some sexy chick. In bed. Fingering herself.</p><p>Fuckin' A.</p><p>Yeah, technically she was his ancestor, but come on, it's not incest if it's just watching, reliving, feeling, ohhh god <em>feeellleeeng</em>, something that happened more than a hundred years ago!</p><p>-though he wasn't at all sure on that time period, the only hint was that the room was lit by candles alone, or rather by a single solo candle on the bedside table- but fuck that, that wasn't important, he didn't give a crap about the historical context of this scene, it was Hot. As. Hell. and that was all that mattered-</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this kinkmeme prompt](http://asscreedkinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/2158.html?thread=12217710#cmt12217710).

Sometimes the Bleeding Effect wasn't all that bad.

Like this time, for example.

He wasn't reliving the execution of Ezio's family, or the suicide of Ahmad Sofian, or the fiery destruction of Kanatahséton.

Far from it.

He was experiencing the memories of some sexy chick. In bed. Fingering herself.

Fuckin' A.

Yeah, technically she was his ancestor, but come on, it's not incest if it's just watching, reliving, feeling, ohhh god _feeellleeeng_ , something that happened more than a hundred years ago!

-though he wasn't at all sure on that time period, the only hint was that the room was lit by candles alone, or rather by a single solo candle on the bedside table- but fuck that, that wasn't important, he didn't give a crap about the historical context of this scene, it was Hot. As. Hell. and that was all that mattered-

The woman- crosslegged, topless, braless, pantsless, shameless, _everythingless_ save for her underwear- fluttered one hand over that sexy silk, slick with sweat, pressing rhythmically on her pubis, while two sharp nails tweaked at her left nipple.

Desmond grunted out his arousal. It came out as a mewl of bold pleasure from the woman's mouth. This only turned him on more and he curled the fingers of his hand frantically into his crotch, trying desperately to stroke himself.

-but it wasn't _his_ hand or _his_ crotch of course it was _hers_ , _her_ slender delicate fingers, not _his_ strong calloused ones, _her_ verdant bush trapped by panties, not _his_ aching cock in sweat-stained boxers-

The woman jittered a frantic finger beneath the waistband of the panties and lifted her hips to scoop them down, to fling them off the bed, consigning them to a dark corner of the room.

And then she was dipping the finger inside herself and Desmond squeak-squawked at this new sensation of intrusion.

-it felt amazing and weird and fantastic and foreign and _fuck_ -

A thumb flicker-flickered on her clit, the pressure was light, but oh so right, the woman panted softly-but-heavily in rhythm with her fingerfucking.

Before Desmond could even begin to get used to having a finger inside him, she went on to two fingers and then three in quick succession. He felt he would almost pass out from the intensity, and he nearly did when she suddenly curled them forward, beckoning, and then he felt vibrations resonate through his-her entire body as she _came_ in a breathtaking jolt.

God, he would be so good, _soooo gooood_ , so fucking _incredible_ , next time he got to have present-day sex. He'd know _just_ the way a woman liked it.

The coming-feeling didn't jerk to a stop as it always did whenever Desmond jerked, but instead slid smoothly down -or maybe up or diagonal or who the fuck knows- into a deeper higher more magical plane of pleasure as the woman pulled her fingers out and licked them sensually before running them around her electrified areolas.

"All right, Janet, you're having way too much fun."

Desmond's heart practically exploded at the name, at the sudden deep voice that said the name.

"I can't stand to just watch you anymore."

Janet. Janet was his mother's name.

Oh god, no, not her no no no anyone but her, there had to be dozens of other Janets in his lineage, it had to be one of them it had to be it had to be, but no.

No.

From out of the shadowed corner of the room ( _damn_ that Assassin stealth training, damn it to the deepest circle of _hell_ ) emerged a man, a familiar man, though the hair was several decades thicker and darker than Desmond had ever seen, and the face far smoother and the body far _nakeder_ , he was still terrifyingly horrifyingly _disgustingly **sickeningly**_ familiar.

Fuck.

It was his motherfucking father. Literally.

Desmond tried to close his eyes but they were Janet's eyes and fucking fuck the Bleeding Effect didn't allow him the same control over ancestral actions as the Animus did and fucking fuck she was getting up and leaning her face into William's and opening her mouth and then she mercifully did close her eyes, but that was no help because now they were fucking kissing, he was experiencing a french kiss _from his own father for fuck's sake!_

Sometimes the Bleeding Effect wasn't all that bad. But sometimes, it was pure pants-shitting terror.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> whoops, I wrote a part two already :p
> 
> it says Feb 10 but it's still Feb 9 in my time zone

Desmond tried to force himself to snap out of it.

(This isn't real, it's just a hallucination, a dream, the Animus fucking with my head!)

- _fucking, fucking, fucking_ -

The word resounded in his mind to the beat of his mother's heart as she trailed her hands down William's back.

(Wake up, dammit! Wake up! It's been way more than thirty seconds! Wake up!)

Had this ever happened to Sixteen? Was he also forced to relive his parents getting busy? Is that what drove him over the edge?

"Oh, Bill, mmmm," Janet purred wetly against the bristly beard. She shuddered and so did Desmond- she from pleasure, he from revulsion- when a pair of strong muscular hands squeezed his ass.

(Goddamnit, no, not _my_ ass, it's Mom's ass!)

Then the hands were caressing over the soft thighs, toned from endless training drills but still oh-so-feminine, and then she was arching her back and opening her legs.

(Oh hell no! Stop it right there! _Stop it!_ )

A finger entered the warm wetness and Desmond let out another cry through Janet's mouth.

(Fuck, think of something else, think of _anything else_!)

The finger began to move creepily and lazily, in-and-out, up-and-down, producing little sticky noises and trembling convulsions of Janet's legs and feet.

(Bloody Mary! Vodka, tabasco, worcestershire, lime juice, tomato juice!)

Then the finger was finally gone but the worst was yet to come.

Desmond felt his-mouth-that-wasn't-his eke out the words, "Ah, Bill! I need..."

"Say it," William rumbled against her bosom.

"Need, unh!" Desmond-Janet gasped at the rough rasping of beard against nipple.

(Long Island Iced Tea! Gin, vodka, tequila, rum, triple sec, sweet'n'sour, cock- no, shit, Coke!)

"Need your cock, Bill!" his mother shrieked loudly. "I need your cock in me now!" Desmond severely hoped these words weren't coming out of his actual mouth as he slept.

(Mai Tai! Rum, orange juice, pineapple juice-)

The next ingredients were lost in a mind-fog as Desmond felt the abrupt _shove_ of something hot and hard and _wrong_ plunging into his crotch.

(God _damn_ it, god _damn_ it, why, _why_ , _**why**_? Why is this _happening_ , why does it feel so -sonofabitch- _good_!)

Slowly in, slowly out, then in again, out again, relentlessly the hot-hard-wrongness pounded. Janet bit her lip until Desmond tasted blood, then panted out a command: "Faster, Bill!"

(Old-Fashioned! Whiskey, bitters, water, sugar!)

At least her eyes were closed at this point, at least he no longer was being forced to see his father's face, or any other part of him. Not that it mattered now, he'd already seen way _way_ too much. But seeing it wasn't a fraction as bad as feeling it. Feeling it, and part of him actually _liking_ it. _Wanting_ it.

Desmond pushed aside that part of him- no, that couldn't be part of him, that was just his mom bleeding through, he wasn't gay, and even if he was he _definitely_ wasn't gay for his dad!

(Mojito! Rum, mint, simple syrup, club soda, lime juice!)

"So good! Ah! Unh! Yes!" Desmond experienced the wonders of the female orgasm for a second time, gripping the bedsheets tightly in one hand, hooking the other arm over a sweaty hairy disgusting back as the wicked thrusts became more insistent, slower, forceful.

Then William came, in thundering spasms, gushing and sparking into Janet with wild abandon, groaning incomprehensibly in a way that was completely unbecoming a Master Assassin.

"Shirley Templar!" Desmond yelped, bolting upright in his sleeping bag. "Sprite, grenadine, gin, cherry!"


	3. Chapter 3

His heart threatened to burst from behind his ribs, and he panted rapidly, eyes darting about in the dim cave, hands patting his face to check the features for Desmond-ness.

 _Desmondity? Desmonditude? Fuck it, whatever word that means I'm not Mom anymore!_

Short cropped hair. Aquiline nose. Touch of stubble. Scar on the lips, which now formed into a weak smile beneath his fingers.

He was sweaty. He was trembling. But he was himself again, and for that he was grateful.

"You all right, mate?"

"Buh?" Desmond turned his head to see Shaun, who was at his computer, typing away on something or other. "I... I..."

The computer screen's harsh glow combined with the blue light from the looming Precursor forcefield to cast Shaun's annoyed features into sharp relief. "You were talking in your sleep. Again."

"I... Shit." Desmond's mind raced back through the words spoken by Janet in the horrific memory he'd just endured, wondering which of them Shaun had heard.

"Load of cocktail recipes, it sounded like. I suppose you were dreaming about your old job? At the... Stormy Skies or whatever stupid name it was?"

"Uhh..."

Shaun rolled his eyes. "Christ, you're even less coherent than usual. And that's quite a mean feat."

Desmond glared at him. "Well maybe **you** should try spending every waking hour hooked into an Animus. See firsthand how it affects your brain, smartass."

"Maybe if we're still alive on the twenty-second I'll give it a go." Shaun turned his attention back to the screen and resumed typing.

"And it's Bad Weather, not Stormy Skies."

Shaun heaved a sigh. "Just go back to sleep. I don't give a flying fuck what your skeevy pub was called."

Desmond was so relieved that he hadn't said anything embarassing during his bleedout, that he didn't even respond to having his former workplace called "skeevy".

It was then that he noticed the uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers. _Aw, fuck. Shit. I sure hope that's from the first part, from before I knew it was my parents._

 

* * *

 

the next morning....

 

"God, what happened to you, Bill?"

William put down his coffee mug and shot a perturbed look at Desmond. "Excuse me?"

"I mean, look at you." Desmond flung his arm through the air to vaguely indicate William's body. "You... you're all old and wrinkled and gray."

"Ex **cuse** me?!"

"I'm sorry, but it's true." Desmond paused to take a bite of his egg-on-stale-toast. "You need to take better care of yourself."

"I... You... What?!" William sputtered.

Desmond smiled and rested his chin daintily on one hand. "Isn't our relationship strong enough that we can talk about these kinds of things, Bill?

"All right, first things first. Since when do **you** call me 'Bill'?"

"Since a long time ago, silly-Billy!" The hand not supporting Desmond's head snaked across the table, fingers looking like they were planning to stroke William's strong hairy forearm. "Since when we were da..." The word "dating" choked to a stop in his throat as Desmond jerked his hand back and facepalmed. Hard. "Shit! Shit shit shit! Sorry. Never mind."

"Are you... feeling all right?" William asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Desmond felt warmth creeping up his neck, and added his other hand to the facepalm in an attempt to conceal the incipient blush. "I'm fine, **Dad**. I'm fine."

"You don't seem 'fine'. What the hell just happened here?"

Beneath his fingers, one of Desmond's eyes twitched as he considered telling the truth. _What happened? Oh, just the weirdest fucking Bleeding Effect ever! Wait, no, not the weirdest one! The weirdest one was last night when it was **literally** a 'fucking' Bleeding Effect!_

He didn't consider it for more than a nanosecond, though. _Things are awkward enough between me and Dad already. Shit will only get worse if I tell him I relived his wife's bedroom memories._

"Desmond," William said firmly. "I need an answer."

Desmond scowled down at his breakfast plate. "It's just... well, it was like ten years ago when I ran away, right?" he said quickly, deliberately not making eye contact- _those eyes, so intense, so powerful, like bullets shooting straight to my heart- Fuck! No! Stop it!_ He glanced into the reflective surface of his spoon. The blush had receded, but he was now sweating up a storm.

"Nine years." Precision was, and had always been, very important to William.

"Okay, nine, whatever! I guess I've been really busy with this Animus shit, so I hadn't noticed how much you aged until just now, okay? And- and, um, as for calling you 'Bill', well, Shaun and Becca call you Bill all the fucking time and you don't care when they do it!"

"Yes, well... They're not my son."

"Everything's permitted, asshole! Even calling your parents by their name!" Desmond grabbed the egg-toast and shoved it in his mouth as he stood up from the table. "I needa get back in the Animus now, so let's just forget it, okay, Dad!?"


	4. Duality

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> getting a little angsty up in here

Desmond was groping his way up from the depths of Ratonhnhaké:ton's adolescent memories when he unexpectedly heard his father's voice.

"So what's the status?"

Desmond's eyes spun around in their sockets, but he could only see blackness.

"Have to wait a few minutes for the result."

This sentence forced itself out of Desmond's own mouth, but at the same time he was also hearing it spoken by a woman.

"What's that, Desmond?" Rebecca asked, and he turned his head to look at her, sitting there at the computer as she always did while he was in the Animus.

But he didn't see her. He saw William. That younger, fitter, **hotter** version of William.

He hadn't heard her either, but instead heard the bitter words "It's been eleven minutes, Janet! Tell me already!"

Desmond's gaze drifted down to his lap where he saw his hand, small and feminine, uncurl around a little plastic device. His heart did somersaults in his chest as more words spilled out of him. "It's... it's negative. Oh well." He shrugged and looked back up at Becca-Bill. "We'll just keep trying."

Rebecca's mouth moved but he heard William's voice again. "Perhaps we'll have better luck if we... start trying different positions?"

"Good idea, Bill." Somewhere in Desmond's clouded mind he realized what was happening and forced himself up from the Animus chair, though it wasn't a chair at all, just an angular outcrop of cold stone. "Sounds like fun!"

"Desmond?" A hand touched his shoulder and he jerked away startled before blinking at the person.

"What's going on?" the person- William, or so it seemed- asked him.

"Wh- who are you?" Desmond managed to stutter.

"Your father," came the hard-toned reply. "Get it together, Desmond."

Desmond's knees felt weak and he fell forward in both time and space against the other man's strong chest. "Dad," he choked out. "I'm... Bleeding." This last word brought forth a jarring mental image: dark clots of red on the crotch of his underwear, and accompanying waves of disappointment.

"Get over it," William said, pushing Desmond off of him. "We're running out of time."

The gray-bearded mouth stopped moving there but Desmond saw a ghost of the hotter William continuing on to say, "Neither of us is getting any younger."

"I know that, Bill!" Desmond spat, tears starting to form in his eyes. "I'm not stupid! You think I'm not **trying**?"

Janet's husband responded warmly, much more warmly than Desmond's father ever did. "I'm sorry, Jan. I just..." The ghost placed a hand on Desmond's shoulder. "I'm sorry. I love you. No matter what, just remember that."

"I..." Desmond's breath caught in his throat. He was actually crying now. "Love you too."

William- the present-day one- wrinkled his nose and turned to address Shaun and Rebecca. "Ah, can one of you handle this?"

Rebecca, who'd been hanging back and just observing the scene, stepped forward. "Okay, Desmond," she said, enunciating clearly, as if speaking to a foreigner. "You're Desmond Miles, remember?"

Desmond's hand jolted to his midsection. "Desmond," he breathed, more tears creeping down his face. "That's a nice name."

Rebecca laughed nervously. "It's good you like it, 'cause it's yours. Try to stay with me here, pal. It's 2012, and you need to pull yourself together and help us save the world."

Desmond looked off to the side, his gaze vacant. "It'll happen eventually... We just need to keep at it."

"Are you even hearing what I'm saying?"

"Worrying and stressing about it won't help," he said, lips trembling.

"Maybe **this** will help." Rebecca pulled out a palm-sized mirror and held it up in his line of sight.

Desmond saw himself and gasped. His hand flew away from his stomach as if repelled by a magnet. "Aaagh. Fuck." His voice, which had been eerily soft before, was back to its usual tenor now. "Fucking **fuck**."

"Okay, he's back with us!" Rebecca called out to the others. "I think."

"Yeah, I'm back, I'm Desmond again," he confirmed, wiping the tears violently away with the grungy sleeve of his hoodie. "Jesus Christ."

"Who were you this time?" Shaun asked, sounding like he gave half a damn for once. "That didn't sound like Connor to me." 

"I... don't know," Desmond lied. "Somebody new."

"Shit." Rebecca's eyes widened. "Someone you didn't even relive in the Animus? That's not good."

"Wow, something not good is happening to me. What a shocker," Desmond deadpanned, collapsing back into the Animus slab. "Forget it, Becca, just boot up the next memory for me."

"You don't wanna take a teensy break? You've been going at it pretty hard lately."

Desmond's heart rate sped up slightly at the words "going at it pretty hard" and a sensory recollection flashed forward to the surface of his mind.

He was lying limp on soft bedsheets.

Firm hands caressed his sides.

A tongue lapped gently down his stomach, dipped into his navel.

A rough thumb brushed his clit, her cock, **something** down there, Desmond was too far gone to say exactly what, but it felt _so amazing, this is pure bliss, who even cares about having a baby anyway_

"Are you ready for me?" Bill's throaty syllables thrummed through Desmond's core.

Desmond nodded jerkily. _Oh god, why does he even need to ask, isn't it obvious, I'm so wet, so ready, I might just die if he doesn't hurry up-_

"I need you to say it." Teasing fingers spread open the sensitive hot folds between Desmond's legs. "Are. You. Ready?"

"Yes!" he cried out, throwing his head back, and then "Ow! Fuck!" when it met the unforgiving stone.

The candlelit bedroom, intimately small, fell away to reveal the vastness of the Grand Temple.

Rebecca and William were suddenly at his sides, lifting him off the Animus. "All right, Des, you deffo need a break."

"No," he squeaked. "I need-"

"A break," Rebecca repeated. "Go to bed, or go take a shower, or something!"

"My vote goes for shower!" Shaun piped up from his workstation. "His B.O. is surprisingly bad for a guy who spends all his time lying down!"

Desmond wanted to respond with something like "Eat a dick, Shaun, using the Animus is fucking **exhausting** since my ancestors spend all their time running and climbing with zero stretching or warming up first!" But he didn't want to risk accidentally triggering a blowjob memory with those first three words, so he settled for simply flipping Shaun off.


	5. Catharsis

Yes, a shower would do him good, Desmond decided, but for a different reason than Shaun's insult on his hygiene. The reason? He needed to jerk off. Perhaps, he thought, all these sexual memories were bubbling up because he hadn't gotten any action for a while. So, in theory, the tide would be stemmed after a good intense cumming session.

Deep within the recesses of the cave was a little running waterfall, just the right size to bathe under. And that's just what they used it for. After ridding himself of Rebecca and William ("I'm fine, I'm fine! Don't need you to watch me every single second, geez!") Desmond undressed, got in, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath through his nose.

_Right. Let's do this._ He searched his spank bank for a fitting fantasy. His most recent girlfriend would do nicely. Her auburn hair, brown eyes, and voluptuous body- let's face it, mostly that third one- materialized in his mind's eye.

Desmond, already rock hard, commenced stroking himself. "Aw, yeah," he murmured out one side of his mouth, though his words were well drowned by the rushing water. "Bend over, yeah, just like that..." He braced one arm against the stone wall, imagining thrusting deeply into... _umm.... Kim? Karen? Cara? Cathy? Hell, my brain's all full with my ancestors' shit, can't even remember my own ex-girlfriend's name!_ The name "Caterina Sforza" offered itself to him, and he allowed the fantasy to shift onto her.

"Yeah, Caterina," he whispered, his tongue caressing the syllables. "Get on this cock, babe. Ride it real good... reeeal goood...."

_"Oh, yes!"_ the Italian noble cried out. _"Oh, Desmond! Fuck me harder!"_

Desmond moved his hips and hand faster, squeezing slickly through his tight grip. "Gonna cum all up in ya pussy, Cat!"

_"Oh! Yeah! Desmmmbh!"_ Caterina's lusty yells were muffled as her mouth was suddenly filled with Bill's thick cock.

_"Now you're getting fucked by two Assassins at once,"_ the newcomer said in his husky basstone. _"How do you like it?"_

"Oh, she likes it a lot," Desmond answered, all mental capacity long gone out the window. "Unh, yeah, suck his cock harder!" A pulsing heat started to collect deep within him. "Yeah, Bill, she likes sucking you, so hot and juicy... Bet she'd love taking you up the ass while I'm in her cunt! Filled up with Bill... mmmm...."

His breath was harsh and ragged as he ran a finger around the edge of his anus, not even realizing he was doing it.

_"You want some too, Desmond?"_

"Yeah... so good, I'm ready," he grunted. "Bill... want you... need you... needa feel you inside me..." The finger, wet with sweat and water, barely poked in before he saw stars and clenched his other hand almost painfully around his cock. "Urgh! Ah!" His mouth hung open in a long gasping cry as he painted thick streaks of off-white against the cavern wall. In his fantasy, matching streaks were shooting deep inside him.

Victorious waves of pleasure washed over and through Desmond's shaking body. "Yes... yess..." he hissed. "Yes. Aww yess... Unh." Exhausted from the intensity of his orgasm, he only just managed to dry off, redress himself, and get to his sleeping bag before falling into a deep and oblivious slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a short one today, sorry :P
> 
> now please excuse me while I pray to non-existent god that nobody I know in real life finds out I wrote something like this


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I'm not sure this story is even under my control anymore, but y'all seem to enjoy it so ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

"Hey, Des." Rebecca clapped a hand on his back as she sat down next to him at the gray slab that served as their kitchen table. "I'm glad you got to let off a little steam, but you kinda forgot to clean up the steam afterward."

"Uh, what?" Desmond asked after swallowing his coffee, still semi-drowsy from his night of solid dreamless sleep.

Rebecca tilted her head closer to his ear, slight drops of water dripping from her hair onto his skin. "I just got outta the shower."

"Good for you," Desmond grunted.

"And while I was in there, I noticed someone's jackoff juice on the wall."

"Gbplth!" A small brown fountain erupted from Desmond's mouth. The temporary amnesia granted by his orgasm was lifted by Rebecca's words, and he now fully remembered the details of what his libido had conjured up.

His cock in Caterina Sforza. His dad's cock in Caterina Sforza. His dad's cock in him. Not in Janet. In **him**.

Rebecca smirked. "Yeah, I figured it was you. Shaun's so uptight all the time, I don't think he ever masturbates, and Bill, well, he's a bit past his sexual prime, y'know? Probably doesn't really need release at his age."

"Gggh. Shut **up** ," Desmond hissed, wiping up his spit take with a napkin. Maybe the William of 2012 was past his prime, but the Bill of the 1980s was a horse of a different color, a fucking **stallion** of a different color.

"Hey, maybe next time I could help you out with that," Rebecca whispered.

"I said shut up!" Desmond stood and turned away from her to hide his growing blush. _Don't want Rebecca, what, why don't I want Rebecca, she's hot as hell, yeah I want her, I wanna hear her and Bill scream my name together, I'll pump her pussy ragged while Bill fucks my **aaaaggh** what the fuck, why is Bill there, why do I want his cock in my ass, no that's Mom, **Mom** wants Bill, it's just the stupid genetic memories, but if it's just her memories then why do I wanna hear him screaming out "Desmond" and not "Janet", and why would it be anal if they were trying to get pregnant, holy shit they were trying to get pregnant with **me** , that's a whole 'nother layer of weird on top of the fact that somehow I want that hot thick cock shooting hot thick jizz in my **aaaaagh** holy shitting fuck I don't wanna think about this right now!!!_

He downed the rest of his coffee in a single gulp before summoning up the power to say, "Don't have time to screw around, Becca. Gotta save the planet, remember?"

"Indeed."

Desmond's coffee mug fell to the floor in a clatter of tin against stone as William's words cut into him. The man's appearance and demeanor had changed considerably since the eighties, but his voice was still the same commanding huskiness. _Holy shit his voice is sexy, how come I never noticed before, and he's the fucking leader of all the Assassins of the whole world, how can anybody concentrate on their missions and shit when he's giving the orders in that damn voice?!_

Just the two syllables of "Indeed" caused a rapid sequence of images to flash through his mind: a charcoal-bearded face kissing down his tattooed arm; rippling muscles underneath Desmond's hand; a twitching, spurting cock, oh god, he wanted to touch it so bad, to feel its heat, to taste _what the fuck, I'm fantasizing about my dad's hard cock, holy fucking jesus christ fuck fuck fuck_

Not daring to turn and look his father in the eye, or any other body part for that matter, he picked his mug back up and chucked it into the bin they'd designated for dirty dishes, then methodically made his way over to the Animus, trying desperately to keep his mind out of the gutter.

"Sure you're cool to jump back to the past right away?" Rebecca asked. "You were freaking pretty bad yesterday."

"I'm cool, all right?!" Desmond snapped back. "Not like it matters! We're on a deadline here, y'know? Like, literally, we'll all be dead if we don't get this shit done!" Usually he balked at getting back in the Animus, but right now he couldn't wait for Rebecca to send him off to the refreshing depths of history so he could immerse himself in the turmoil of the American Revolution, rather than ponder the disturbing new direction his sexuality was taking.

 

* * *

 

Desmond's brain was well and truly fucked over, for as much as he tried to focus on just getting through the memories, little things kept jumping out at him and reminding him of sex.

"Pitcairn aimed to encourage diplomacy - which you cocked up thoroughly enough to start a god-damned war!"

_oh hell why did he have to say cock?!_

"You're not really in a position to be makin' threats are ya?"

_position, position, goddammit brain stop thinking of sex positions_

"It seems your tongue has tasted sour grapes!"

_tongues and tasting, fucking hell I swear they're doing this on purpose_

As his two ancestors splashed down from the burning brewery into the harbor, Desmond's vision seemed to glitch for a moment, and he saw not Haytham treading water beside Connor, but Bill instead. The chilly moisture made his clothes cling tighter to him, revealing every little definition of his aged-to-perfection body. Small beads dripped from his dark hair and ran down his cheeks.

Desmond shuddered, and he honestly couldn't say if it was from cold or from excitement. He swam Connor over to Bill, wanting to hold him close, warm him up, never let him go.

But all too soon, the fleeting anachronism blipped away, and he was again seeing stupid old Haytham. _Blech._ The two men's faces were similar, but Desmond could tell the difference at a glance and he wanted nothing to do with this one.

After the Animus session was over, Rebecca told Desmond that she "picked up a few odd spikes in your vital signs, especially near the end of that last memory. Is everything okay? Did you see anything weird on your end?"

"Uh." Desmond swallowed quietly. "No, I didn't."

"Huh." Rebecca studied her computer monitor carefully. "Well, maybe it's just because these memories are really emotional for Connor. Since, y'know... first time meeting his dad and stuff."

"Yeah." He sat up from the Animus. "Yeah, that'd do it." Across the vast cavern he spotted William, standing at the edge of the abyss, gazing into nothingness and stroking his beard thoughtfully. He really wasn't that bad-looking for a sixty-some-year-old, Desmond realized. "Y'know, I'm glad me and Bill have a better relationship than Connor and Haytham."

Rebecca smirked. "Only just a smidge better, if you ask me."

"Well... maybe I can fix that."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh god Desmond what are you planning, I'm the author and even I don't know


	7. let it slip

It was dinnertime. If you could even call it that. They didn't have much in the way of food left. Shaun bit into the stale bread of the sandwich he'd just made and then froze for a long second.

"You alright there?" Rebecca asked him.

"I think this turkey's gone off," he mumbled through the foul mouthful, too polite to spit it out yet unwilling to swallow it.

"Ohh, too bad for you, eh?" Rebecca said, looking incredibly smug. "My dinner's tasty as ever." She took another bite of her Larabar, making more noise than necessary. "Mmmm, cruelty-free."

"And flavor-free," added Desmond, who was chewing a stick of beef jerky.

Shuddering, Shaun finally managed to swallow that bite he'd taken. "It seems we're overdue for another supply run."

William's brows wrinkled. "Have we got any cash left?"

Desmond grinned. "I could pickpocket some."

"No, too risky."

"Aw, c'mon, Bill!" Desmond groaned. "I've been pickpocketing since Altaïr! I'm really good at it by now!"

_There he goes, calling me Bill again. Does he subconsciously not see me as his father anymore? Could it be depersonalization from chronic Animus use?_ William felt a small pang of grief for the "loss" of his son, but quickly shoved it away. Such emotions were of no use to him, especially in their current situation. "You're too important, Desmond. We can't risk-"

"C'monnnnn! I swear I won't get caught, okay?!"

William suppressed a sneer. _Such arrogance. He's learned nothing._ "You didn't think you'd get caught while posing as a bartender."

"I was not **posing** ," Desmond spat, "that was my actual **job**."

"Let's not go on a tangent," William said, half-rolling his eyes. "We need you here. In case you forgot, we need you to find that key. Pronto."

Desmond waved a hand at the Animus. "Can't you take a turn in there? You're related to Connor too!"

William's breath caught in his throat for a moment before he composed himself. "That wouldn't work. I'm- My genes, my individual neural anatomy wouldn't be compatible with your progress so far. I'd have to essentially start over."

Rebecca gave him a dubious look. "Really, Bill? I could try reconfig-"

He cut her off. "We'd just be wasting time. Time we don't have."

"I think we've rather gotten away from the food issue," Shaun said meekly.

William shook his head. "No, Mr. Hastings. These should last us a few more weeks." He gestured behind them to a bulk box of energy bars, still mostly-full.

Shaun gave a plaintive "But Bill-"

"But nothing!" He smacked his palms flat against the table top. "No unnecessary risks, and that's final!" The declaration echoed back and forth in the cavernous emptiness of the Grand Temple.

"Guess you'll be joining the vegan club after all." Rebecca shot Shaun a victory grin and received a glare in return.

William returned his attention to the little can of soup he'd been eating. He didn't like the idea of subsisting solely on Larabars any more than Shaun did, but if that was what it came down to, then so be it. He'd heard tell that their team had often gone out to get fast food while holed up in Monteriggioni, and a few times had come close to having their cover blown. _Those sort of shenanigans are completely inexcusable for Assassins in these dark times. If they'd experienced the horrors of the Purge, they'd know to prioritize safety over comfort._ He fished a lukewarm chunk of meat from the can. Sometimes he really despaired for the future of their Brotherhood. _These youngsters don't know how good they have it. Everything's too easy nowadays. Communicating by email, automatically encrypted, no futzing around with ciphers and codes. Hacking enemy surveillance networks, no painstaking reconnaissance necessary. If we don't manage to prevent the solar storm, the EMP might destroy the whole Internet, and then what would they do? They'd have to actually pay attention to their elders for once._ Though his face remained an impassive mask as usual, William smiled inwardly at this thought.

After a while, the soup level got so low that his spoon couldn't quite reach it, and he had to tilt back the can and drink the dregs directly. It was then that he noticed Desmond staring blankly at him, chin in hand, and the tiniest hint of a smile flickering at one corner of his mouth.

_No. He's not just staring blankly._ William hadn't spent decades as a Master Assassin without learning to read people. _He's got something on his mind._ "Ahm," he cleared his throat and wiped a few soup droplets from his mustache. "Desmond?"

Desmond blinked at the name. "Uh?"

William didn't like the sound of that. "Tell me you're with us," he said forcefully. "Snap out of whatever Bleeding Effect you're in, Desmond."

Desmond's jaw hardened, as if he was offended by the assumption. "I'm fine, I'm with you."

"Oh yeah?" Shaun waggled his sandwich, or what was left of it after he'd taken out the spoiled turkey. "Why were you staring at Bill so intently the last five minutes, then? Like a bloody lovelorn schoolgirl or something."

"I- I-" Desmond's eyes jittered for a moment before he clenched them shut and got hastily up from the table. "It's nothing, I was just, y'know, staring into space and he happened to be there!"

 

* * *

 

_later that evening..._

 

William rubbed his eyes, fought back a yawn, and clicked on the next email in his inbox.

 

To: William M.  
From: Gavin B.  
Subject: Re: Re: power sources?

I've heard a few whispers of one somewhere in North Africa (or Saudi Arabia, we're not quite sure yet). Needless to say, I've got my whole team working on it and will ping you as soon as we've got something definite.

The yawn, however, wouldn't give up and eventually wormed its way out of him, starting small but soon overtaking half his face with a wide-open mouth for several seconds, after which he blinked and checked the time on his wristwatch.

_23:33. Oh, all right._ Impending apocalypse or not, he did have to spend at least some of their precious time in bed. It wouldn't do for him to be sleep-deprived and thus lacking in mental capacity while overseeing everything. He logged out of the computer and trudged over to his sleeping nook.

When he got there, he frowned.

There were two sleeping bags there.

"Why are there two sleeping bags here?"

"One's mine," came a jaunty reply, and William turned his head to see Desmond, midway through brushing his teeth.

"What."

"One of the sleeping bags is mine," Desmond said, sounding much less jaunty on the repetition, then rinsed his mouth briefly and spat into a bucket. "I moved mine next to yours."

William furrowed his brow. "Why did you move-"

Desmond's mouth twitched, and he stared at his toothbrush, fidgeting it in his hand. "I thought it might be nice to, uh, sleep together."

"Oh. Well... I suppose that's all right." William was far too tired to argue, especially about something as trivial as this. He was also too tired to fold things, so he simply threw his jacket and pants in a crumpled heap against the wall and settled into his sleeping bag.

As exhausted as his body was, his mind stubbornly refused to rest. There were so many matters occupying his life these days, and they all wove together into a chaotic web of worry.

_Animus. Deadline. Precursors. Temples. Templars. Cross. Lucy. Betrayal. Bleeding Effect. Desmond. Animus. Deadline...._

Everything was connected to everything else and it all spun around over and over in William's brain as he lay limp in the thinly padded sleeping bag.

He heard Desmond's plodding steps, the soft shuffling as he undressed, the perfunctory, "G'night Shaun. G'night Rebecca."

The plodding steps came closer, and then he sensed Desmond leaning over him.

"G'night," he said, and William was about to echo it politely back when a small movement of warm air brushed his face and he froze.

The next thing he felt was so delicate, so faint, it almost felt like a dream. The barest hint of lips and the tip of a nose touched his forehead.

Yes, he would have dismissed it as a dream, if not for the whispered words that followed it.

"This is so fucked, but... I love you."

William's eyes snapped open. "What."

Desmond's face, which had been mere inches from him, now cringed away. "Uh. Sorry. Thought you were asleep," he said, still whispering.

"What did you say?"

"I... love you?" Desmond squeaked, sounding as if the words were a surprise to him as well.

William's mind spun back to _Desmond, Desmond, Desmond,_ and he didn't even know what exactly the mental reverberation meant. "Are you all right?" he asked, unsure whether he wanted the answer to be "Yes" or "No".

Desmond swallowed. "Yeah. I think so." He scooted down into his sleeping bag and pulled it over himself. "Well... g'night."

William didn't say anything more. He rolled over onto his side, facing away from Desmond. _Desmond. Desmond._

He was still incredibly tired, but managed to find the energy to lift the shaking fingers of one hand to his forehead.

The last words that ran through his mind before the blissful ignorance of sleep overtook him were these:

_Janet used to kiss me just like that._


	8. take the fall

Desmond didn't sleep well that night. At first he couldn't even get to sleep, so worried was he about the consequences of his love confession.  _Can't believe I fucking said that, god, I'm so messed up._ He hoped to hell that William had only interpreted it as a statement of filial affection, not anything actually incestuous.  _But what about the kiss, the fucking kiss right on his forehead, why the fuck did I do that? It's Janet, it's Mom, it's gotta be. God, fuck this Bleeding Effect shit. But wait, I... I wasn't Bleeding. Fuuuuuck._

Part of him wanted to drag his sleeping bag back to its original spot, far away, where he wouldn't have to hear William's slow sleepy breathing, wouldn't have to smell the subtle scent of his hair wafting over, wouldn't have to suppress the urge to wrap his arms around that bare broad chest....

But he couldn't move his sleeping bag, not now, not without rousing William. He was a light sleeper. _Very_ light. Desmond knew from past experience. Especially that one time he'd been planning to meet up with a girl on the Farm late at night for a makeout session, but had failed miserably trying to sneak past his parent's bedroom.

_Makeout session..._   _Wonder what it'd be like with Bill,_ he thought sleepily, and unconsciously smiled. _  
_

 

* * *

 

 

At length he did manage to drift off into slumber, but it was a restless one. He squirmed in his sleeping bag, accosted by visitations from the past.

"Sarah said she and David have been trying too. Trying and having trouble, just like us, Bill," he

-or not he, it wasn't him talking, though it sure felt like him, felt like his own mouth forming words but something was, not _wrong_ , but _off_ somehow, it felt like his mouth forming the words, but not his brain choosing them beforehand, but if it wasn't his brain then _who_ , oh no, yes, it must be-

Janet said. "Maybe Abstergo's put something in our water."

"Something in our water," Bill repeated back the words in that way he tended to do when he thought the other person wasn't making any sense.

"You know full well the things they can churn out of those labs," Janet said, and Desmond felt tears prick at their shared eyes. "What if they did something, something chemical, to sterilize us, to thin our ranks?!"

"Janet, you're being ridiculous."

"You know they could!"

"I'm not saying they couldn't," Bill countered heavily, "but think: if they knew where we were, to put something in our water, wouldn't they just come here and kill us all outright?"

Janet shrank back and stared at the ground, cowed by the obviousness of it. "Of course they would. I'm sorry."

Desmond heard a low sigh, then felt fingertips take him by the chin, directing his gaze back up to those magnificently strong eyes. "Don't be sorry. You're just-" Bill's voice morphed suddenly, becoming caustic and British "-going to sleep all day?!"

A shoe jabbed into his side and he jolted into reality. Shaun was there, standing over his sleeping bag, glaring down. "Uuurngh," Desmond groaned, rubbing his face.

"Welcome back," Shaun said. "Now that you're up, fancy a trip to Manhattan?"

"Wha-uurrh?" Desmond queried incoherently, trying to get used to the sound of his own voice again.

"Yes, Manhattan. You know, that big island just about five hours south of here? There's a Precursor power cube whatsit in the Financial District and you've been nominated to go fetch it."

Desmond slowly managed to get up to his feet. "Ahh, right. Sure thing."

 

* * *

 

"Okay... uh... hope this is on... don’t think I’ve ever used this phone more than a few times to record anything. Uh... hey Bill. Or Dad, if you prefer." Desmond pulled the phone away from his mouth and sighed profoundly. _Of course he prefers 'Dad', dumbass. Or 'Mentor'. ...'Master'?_ A weird image of Bill towering over him in a leather dom getup came to mind, and he didn't even know if it originated from maternal memory or from some twisted desire of his own. Either way it was making his hands sweaty and his face hot. God, he wanted to jack off.

He paused the recording, set down the phone, and got up to take a long cool drink of water from the faucet in the kitchen. _Keep it together, man. Shaun's right there in the next room, and the others could be back any minute. Yes, it's tempting, but **no.** Do **not** jack off to the thought of your dominating dad._

He splashed more water over his face and returned to his niche between the wall and the bed, then pushed the hot thoughts away with whatever pointless words he could muster for posterity. "So, uh, it's December third, and we're all here in New York at the motel." He covered the dom-Bill fantasy image with a mental map and zeroed in on their location. "It’s Queens actually. In Astoria, near the NQ." These geographic details kept him focused, calmed his incipient boner. "Rebecca’s off getting batteries for something, and Shaun’s in his room doing... whatever Shaun does… and, uh, you’re out getting some food... We had a little mini-argument thing the other day about food. Or the other week. I dunno. My sense of time is slipping."

He swallowed, wondering if maybe he shouldn't have mentioned that. It was true: not in the sense of forgetting that it was the twenty-first century, but in the sense that the days all bled together. He spent huge swathes of time in the Animus nowadays, and there was neither sunrise nor sunset in the eternal dimness of the Temple. Combine those two factors with his mixed-up mental state, and honestly, was it any wonder he couldn't remember how long ago that mini-argument was? He only knew today was December third because he'd checked the display on his phone five minutes ago.

But maybe it wasn't the best thing to mention that depressing detail on this message. Nevertheless, it had been mentioned now and there was no way to undo it, short of deleting the recording and starting it over, and he didn't feel up to that. He cleared his throat and continued. "Me? Well, I’m supposed to be getting ready to break into some offices in the Financial District." A siren wailed by in the distance. "It feels just like prepping for one of your old training drills, actually," he said through a smile. "Ten years go by, and then you show up, and it’s like, ah… it’s like I was never gone, and we’re right back to the conspiracies, and the paranoia, and the ball-busting…" He winced. That last bit had inadvertently brought up another fetishy thought. _Fuuuck._ He gritted his teeth and gripped the phone tighter. "God, sorry. This recording is gonna be a trainwreck. I'm kinda messed up right now." He let out a small sound, half laugh and half sob. "I mean, you know I'm messed up. You've seen what I'm like these days. But honestly... I don’t even think you know the half of it."

 

* * *

 

He was falling, plummetting, wind whipping past him razor-sharp. His heartbeat throbbed in his head and he closed his eyes against the chill night air that had already flung back his hood.

He felt his body become light as vapor for a moment before re-establishing itself. Projected on the inside of his eyelids was a pile of leaves rushing up from the ground. He fell into it, crinkling, giddy with suppressed laughter.

After a moment, a pair of hands probed into the pile and sought him out. "Janet? I know you're in there!"

Airy, faux-unhappy words rang out from his throat. "Oh, no, you detected me!" He popped up and grinned.

Bill reached out and brushed a couple leaves from flowing brown hair. "You weren't even trying this time," he said with a playful smile. "I'll have to punish you for that laziness."

Desmond-Janet took hold of his arm and got up from the pile. "Oh, my, Mentor, what _ever_ kind of punishment do you have in mind?"

"What would you say to a... group encounter?" Bill said, cocking his head coquettishly. His hands were strong, yet tender-soft as they slipped around Desmond, up under Janet's blouse to unsnap her bra. "You are too, mmm... too precious to keep all for myself."

_Group sex? Holy shit, Bill's kinky!_ Desmond thought, feeling his skin flush and his nipples stiffen under the roaming touch of experienced fingers.

"Oh my," Janet breathed. She trailed her palm over Bill's pants, seeking out the burgeoning bulge within. Desmond's own cock pulsed in anticipation.

Bill leaned over and murmured into his ear. "Pull it."

_What?_

"Desmond, pull it **now!** "

An intangible something jerked him from Bill's warm embrace, abruptly back into the dark cold of the New York night. "Fuck!" he yelled so loud it cycled back through his earpiece as an echo.

"Pull the bloody cord!"

Desmond made a long inarticulate "Gaaaaah" noise as he fumbled for the ripcord. After a few terrifying seconds he realized it was already in his hand, yanked it for dear life, and the parachute opened in a noisy rush. His heart was pounding, but he couldn't say whether it was from fright for his life or desire for his dad. He could still feel the faint tickling of beard against his cheek, the fingers slipping between his bra and breasts- _Uuuugh, stop it, stop it, stop it! I don't have breasts, I don't wear a bra, and I don't wanna bone my dad! Or maybe I do on that last one but for fuck's sake don't think about that right now, focus on the mission dammit!_

He tumbled roughly and clumsily onto the very very edge of the helipad.

"Nice going there, you could've bloody died!" Shaun's voice spat in his ear. "What, you got distracted by all the pretty lights? Chrissake, man, you lived in this city, you've seen it all before!"

"Shove it, Shaun, there was... something wrong with the earpiece, like a bad connection," Desmond mumbled. "I didn't hear you before."

Now Rebecca's voice came through, sounding devastated. "No way, there shouldn't be anything wrong with the connection, I set this shit up myself!"

"Quiet please," William intoned. "Let him concentrate."

"Thanks, Bill," Desmond smiled and made his way into the building.

 

* * *

 

 

The thing wasn't hard to find. In fact, it was displayed quite prominently as an objet d'art on the CEO's desk. Desmond hesitated a second or two, then elbowed through the case that held it. He brushed glass slivers off his sleeve and picked up the power source. "That wasn't so bad."

"So!" Desmond spun around, eyes wide. There was suddenly another person in the office; a pale man, in a thick leather jacket that was as rumpled and disheveled as his hair. And, more importantly, the man was pointing a gun straight and confident at him. "You must be Desmond. Not exactly what I expected. But I guess your kind doesn't have many options these days." The man smirked and began stepping forward.

"Who are you?" Desmond asked. Though his mind knew he should kill first and ask questions later, his body was stunned.

"Ask your father," the man spat.

_Oh shit, Dad, Bill, oh god._ Desmond wanted to close his eyes and sink into reminiscences but he knew that would spell doom right now. Not just for himself, but the world.

"Give me that." The man held out his free hand and beckoned to the power source.

Desmond set his face firmly. "I don't think so."

The man's smirk was now a deep glower. "Look," he growled, coming closer, "I'm not supposed to kill you... but the bossman didn't say anything about _fucking you up_." He punctuated the last three words with meaningful wags of his gun. "So you've got to the count of- Urg!"

Lightning fast, so fast he wasn't even sure how he'd done it, Desmond grabbed the gun and the hand that held it, twisted them violently to one side, and smacked the man right across the face with the jagged glowing cuboid, drawing a satisfying amount of blood.

Then Desmond ran.

But the man, though down, wasn't out. He grabbed Desmond's ankle firmly, preventing his escape. "Give it to me!" he roared, and fired a warning shot past Desmond's head. "That thing, and the Apple too, if you've got it on you! Just hand 'em over and you can leave! Crawl back to whatever hole you're hiding in!"

Desmond tried to kick free, but the man gripped him tighter. "Look, asshole, I know you guys think you're saving the world and shit," Desmond said, "but really it's us. The Assassins are saving the world. Like, the literal planet. And we need this to do it." He waved the bloodied power source. "So lemme go if you know what's good for you."

"How about... no?" The man pulled, surprisingly strong, and Desmond fell back on his ass. He got up, planted a foot on Desmond's chest, and grinned despite the blood dripping freely from his nose. "How about, you do what the Master Templar with the gun says, if _you_ know what's good for you."

Desmond flailed his Hidden Blade at the leg restraining him, but the man swung his other foot out and crushed his wrist against the cold floor. "Speaking of which: it's the twenty-first century and you're still running around with only a tiny knife for protection? Hah. It's stupid." He pointed the gun at Desmond again. "All right, Desmond. Game's over."

"You can't kill me, remember?!" Desmond sneered. "You need me, my genes, my genetic memories, or something about me."

"Oh, I remember I'm not _supposed_ to kill you. The thing is, sometimes, I'm a little bit unhinged." The man's face twisted into a mad grin. "So... they'll understand if I...." He trailed off, eyes growing vacant. "No... not now..." He took the gun off Desmond, gripped his head in both his hands. Deep, guttural syllables struggled from his mouth, and Desmond picked up the word "nyet" among the rest of it.

_Holy fuck, this is-_ Though Desmond was curious to get an idea what he himself looked like when struggling with an overflow of ancestral memories, he didn't waste a microsecond watching, and twisted out from under the man, who fell to the floor in a crumpled heap. He paused in the doorway, wondering if he should assassinate him, but in the end, couldn't bear to do it. Not when he was in this state, writhing about and sobbing in Russian.

So Desmond fled, the power source safely tucked in his backpack.

Sometimes the Bleeding Effect was goddamn _convenient_.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [SMUT INTENSIFIES]

Desmond's earpiece was eerily silent as he made his way back through the halls of the office building, but he figured the other Assassins were just holding their tongues and letting him focus on the mission, as William had ordered.

However, when he emerged back onto the helipad roof, a rushed mix of voices came at him in a sudden crackle.

"-couldn't be!"  
"-we need to get-"  
"-isn't safe-"  
"-next steps-"  
"-bloody _fuckballs_ -"

Wincing, he flew a hand to the earpiece and cranked the volume down to almost-off. "God, one at a time, guys!"

"Desmond!" William's voice, full of relief, came through barely-audible. Desmond's lip twitched up into a half-smile and he returned the volume to normal, letting the warm strength of the voice wash through his soul. "Are you all right? Where are you? Did you get it?"

"I'm fine, I'm right here on the roof again," he answered. "And yeah, I got it."

"There he is!" Rebecca said. "Fuck, Des, we were worried sick! You disappeared from our sensors and comms the moment you went inside. They must have rigged up the building to block any signals."

"Yes, well, seems that didn't deter him much, did it?" said Shaun. "We'll come round to collect you now."

A minute or so later, a small helicopter with William at the helm touched down. Desmond jumped into the co-pilot seat, backpack clutched safely in his lap, and they were off again in a matter of seconds.

"We were worried sick!" Rebecca reiterated. "What happened in there?"

"Was it an ambush? Hordes of agents just lying in wait for your arrival?" Shaun asked, coming forward to look Desmond up and down. "I guess not, since you seem unscathed."

Miffed at the implication that he wouldn't be able to handle himself in a large-scale fight, Desmond shoved Shaun back and away. "No biggie. Just one guy." Then he looked over to William. "He, uh. He mentioned you?" There was a slight question in his tone.

"What? Who mentioned me?"

Desmond's mind ached as he looked at his father the Mentor; at the combed-over grey hair, the age-worn skin. The man had been through so, **so** much hardship since those happier times in the nineteen-eighties. Forgetting the question he'd just been asked, he lifted a hand and brushed his fingertips over one of William's cheeks, remembering the way they'd crinkle when he smiled, which he never seemed to do anymore.

 _Oh no. Not this again._ William tried to ignore the touch. "Well? Who was it?"

Desmond blinked and pulled back his hand. "Uh." He forced himself to stare straight forward into the night sky and did his best to flush away thoughts of Bill smiling, Bill laughing, Bill kissing him by candlelight. But it was like trying not to think of a polar bear: the more he tried to suppress the thoughts, the more tempting they were.

Rebecca sensed his loss of focus and kicked the back of his seat. "Don't fucking tell me you're Bleeding right now, Des?"

 _Am I?_ Desmond took a shallow breath, then a deeper one. _Shit, I don't feel like I am, but maybe..._ He stuck a hand in his backpack and clenched the power source tightly, letting the geometric angles dig painfully into his skin as an anchor to the present time. "My name is Desmond Miles," he said, out loud, but addressing himself. "It's December third, twenty-twelve and my name is Desmond Miles."

Shaun glanced at his watch. "December fourth actually. Midnight's passed."

"Back to the topic at hand," William said. "Who mentioned me?"

"Um." Desmond blinked and was silent a moment as he struggled to retrieve the lost thread of their conversation. "Right, yeah. The guy in the building. Uh." He glanced back towards William. "I didn't get his name. But there can't be too many people who are both Master Templars and Animus test subjects."

William drew in a sharp breath, then growled, "Cross."

"Cross?"

"The only other man who fits those criteria is Vidic, and you would have recognized him."

"Vidic was an Animus subject?" This was news to Desmond.

"Voluntarily, for a short time in the eighties."

Desmond shook his head. "I never woulda guessed. But, this guy musta done it for a lot longer, 'cause I never heard Vidic randomly break out in Russian."

"You really fought _Daniel Cross_? And came out in one piece?" Shaun asked, incredulous.

"Hey, I'm a fucking good fighter, asswipe," Desmond snapped. "And how could I be making it up? I never even heard of this guy before."

Rebecca reached past Desmond's seat and gave him a congratulatory pat on the back. "Well, good going, bud. You took out a majorly bad baddie back there."

"Um." Desmond's throat went dry. "I, uh... didn't kill him."

William's hand jerked involuntarily on the control stick and the helicopter pitched to one side for a moment. Once he'd steadied their course again, he turned and spoke to Desmond in a voice as cold as ice. "You _fool_."

"What?"

"Cross," he growled the name with heavily palpable hatred, "is responsible for the deaths of thousands of Assassins. He's the reason for the Purge."

Desmond trembled under the weight of this information. He could sense the anger rippling through William's body. His mind was split between wanting to hug and caress that anger away, and wanting to kneel naked before him and submit to whatever punishment he was due for letting the Templar live.

"If you ever see him again... Do. Not. Show. Mercy."

Desmond swallowed. "Yes sir," he said hoarsely.

The rest of the helicopter ride was spent in silence.

 

* * *

 

As they ditched the helicopter and headed back to the van for the return drive, William noticed something, grabbed Desmond's left arm and lifted it up. "What's this?"

The fingers felt electric on his skin, and Desmond was speechless for a moment, staring up at those sharp eyes.

"Well?" William pressed.

Desmond tore his gaze down to the spot in question. Underneath the Hidden Blade straps, there was a bruise forming on his wrist: an ugly purplish blob clashing with the black ink of the tattoo edges. "Oh, uh. Cross stepped on me."

"Stepped on you?" There was disbelief and mild outrage in William's voice.

Desmond imagined Bill punching Cross's lights out, hissing "How dare you step on my precious Desmond." But of course that was imagination. He kept looking down at the bruise, and tried not to remember the similar one William had given him across his jaw last month. "Yeah, he, uh. He had me pinned on the floor."

"How did you let that happen?"

"Well... I socked him in the face and he went down, but then he pulled me down and got back up." Desmond felt like a miserable excuse for an Assassin. "So... yeah."

"And then what?" William prompted. "How did you manage to get away?"

"Didn't I tell you? He started freaking out and speaking Russian. At least, I think it was Russian."

"It was." William flung Desmond's arm down carelessly and started walking again to catch up with Rebecca and Shaun, some yards ahead of them by now.

Desmond followed. "How do you know?"

"Cross has Russian ancestry. I've witnessed him Bleeding Nikolai Orelov."

"Who's Niko- Wait, hold the phone!" Desmond jogged up and grabbed William's shoulder. "You've met this guy and you didn't kill him yourself?!"

William sighed and looked somberly at him. "He used to be one of us. Or so we thought." He began to relate the long dark tale of the unwitting sleeper agent, but Desmond was soon too lost in his eyes and the rolling rhythm of his voice to listen to the actual words he was saying.

"...but I insisted there was no way." William put a hand softly on Desmond's shoulder.

This physical contact snapped Desmond from his reverie. "Right, no way," he echoed, hoping this made sense in context.

"And I was right. You may have run away, but you've never colluded with the enemy. You're Assassin through and through. The real second coming of Cross was Stillman. And she's taken care of now." William smiled, and it made him look at least a decade younger. "Thanks to you."

Desmond smiled back and, on impulse, gave William a hug. At first it was going to be just a quick one, but he couldn't find it in himself to pull away once it started.

All too soon, a few short claps interrupted the moment. "Woo, father-son bonding." It was Rebecca. "Kudos for mending your relationship, guys, but we gotta get a move on."

Desmond jumped back from William and shoved his hands quickly in his pockets. "Yes. Right. Gotta get back to the syncing shit."

* * *

After the high-stakes thrill of reliving Paul Revere's midnight ride, Desmond was a little unnerved to find himself dreaming of _another_ horseback ride that night. But the atmosphere here was much calmer, the horse's pace much more easygoing and casual.

It was a dense forest, and he recognized the native flora of the Black Hills. There was someone riding behind him, and he knew instantly it was Bill from the way the hands were gently wrapped around his slender waist- _whoops, no, that's Mom's waist._

"-to carry on the heritage," Bill was saying. "Could even follow in my footsteps as Mentor."

"Awfully big shoes to fill," Janet laughed.

"Yes, well... we've got quite some time before that becomes an issue, don't we?" Bill nuzzled his nose into her hair and slipped a hand beneath her shirt hem to caress her soft stomach. Desmond sucked in a breath- _god that feels good, please keep going, keep touching_ -

"Ahh," Janet sighed, enjoying the touch as much as Desmond was. She put her hand over Bill's, interlaced her fingers with his. "Yes. No time like the present, they say. So let's make the most of it." She directed the horse to slow, approaching a little cabin.

"I like the way you think, hon." Bill's fingers slid lower over her skin, underneath her waistband. - _yes, yes, stroke me, Bill, I'm so hard for you, and I know you are too-_ Desmond felt keenly the growing erection straining through Bill's pants, and his mouth watered at the thought.

Janet leaned back into him with another sigh, legs clenching tight against the horse's flanks when his searching fingers found their goal. "Oooh, Bill," she giggle-gasped, "I'm gonna lose my balance and fall off if you keep that up!"

"Mrm, we wouldn't want that, would we?" Bill murred into her neck. "Especially not now." He removed his hand from her panties, patting her stomach lightly on the way out. "Let's continue this inside." He leapt down from the horse and then helped her down as well.

They hurried into the rustic cabin, stripping off each others' clothes, kissing each freshly-revealed spot of skin and throwing down without a care the fabric that had covered it. Desmond writhed with delight as Janet lapped and sucked Bill's neck, shoulders, chest, worshipping each faded scar on his battle-worn body. Before long Desmond was down on his knees, face-to-face with Bill's cock. He was intimidated and didn't know what to do, but Janet was in control and she dove right into sucking it, eliciting a deep rumble of approval from Bill with each bob of her head.

_-oh god this taste it's insane I can't even and it's so hot and hard and god damn it's good ohhhh man-_

Just when Desmond was starting to get a feel for it, Bill pushed him away. "Ah, Jan, it's unfair if you focus only on me." He grinned and gestured to the bed.

Janet returned the smile and reclined onto the soft white sheets, spreading her legs and beckoning inward with one flexible foot. Desmond didn't like the change in position; this viewpoint, showcasing her easily visible breasts and bush, jarred his immersion. _This isn't me, this isn't happening, it's just another stupid memory_ , he thought glumly as Bill trailed his fingers up her thighs.

But the glumness was soon chased away when those fingers brushed over her pubes and over the tip of the pink flesh peeking out from therein. Desmond's dissonance, the mismatch between what he knew his body looked like and what he was seeing now, fell away as Janet closed her eyes and relaxed back into the mattress. God, it was just the slightest touch, but it was _amazing_. Then the fingers reached in and began to stroke more firmly and precisely, and Desmond gasp-whimpered, legs twitching. It wasn't quite exactly the same feel as having someone jerk him off, but god _damn_ it was similarly intense.

If Janet's eyes had been open, Desmond would have seen a familiar look of focused concentration on the other man's face. But though he saw nothing, he could feel it all: panting breaths hot and heavy on his abs, a gentle hand sliding under his ass to squeeze a cheek as two fingers stroked up and down the sides of the engorged clitoris, working diligently away until Desmond couldn't take it anymore- "Bill! It's too much!"

The touches retreated. "Shall we move on?"

Desmond breathed shakily for a couple seconds, muscles he couldn't identify spasming deep within him, within Janet, within them both. At last he felt the words, "Yes... yes," leave her throat quietly as she turned over and repositioned herself on all fours. Desmond trembled inwardly, wondering what was next, but he didn't have to wonder for long before he felt a cool gel being applied to his asshole. "Ahh!" he gasped at the unexpected chill.

Bill stroked his back. "Do you not want to-"

Desmond shook his head. "No. Yes, I want it. We haven't done that in a while, have we? I miss it."

Bill bent down over him, spoke right into his ear. "What do you miss? Tell me, precious."

_-god that voice!-_

"You... in..."

Bill tweaked at one of Janet's nipples. "Say it," he teased. "Tell me your desire."

"In my ass!" Janet blurted.

"All right." Bill patted her back again and straightened up.

 _-oh wow he's going to-_ Desmond's heart started to race at the mere thought of it, and he shivered when a warm hard _something_ pressed against his lubed pucker. He shivered again at Bill's soft "Mmn" as he slowly worked his cock inside. - _oh god this is it, it's in, it's bigger than I thought it was-_ "Mmn," Desmond echoed when Bill was fully enveloped in him. He wanted to savor this moment forever. It stung, just a tiny bit, but at the same time it was _heaven_ , he was filled just so _right_ , oh man, how come he'd never tried anything anal before, it was fucking _fantastic,_ but then Bill started to _thrust_ and it was fucking _mindblowing_. "Oh yes," Janet panted, "oh yes, you're... you're so good... unh, but I need... could you-"

 _Could you **what** , what the hell more does she need from him,_ Desmond wondered, Bill's cock had only been in his ass a few seconds and he was already on the fucking edge.

"Of course, my sweet," Bill murmured, reaching down and around to attend to Janet's clit again: first lightly brushing it, then ramping up the touch as he rammed her ass harder, rubbing it with one slick finger and dipping a thumb inside and - _oh god that's weird_ \- Desmond still wasn't quite used to the sensation of vaginal penetration, and he threw his head forward, the room spinning, more muscles clenching all through his body: hands and jaw and groin and toes. Fuck, was he cumming already? They'd only just started! Bill would be so disappointed at his lack of stamina!

The small rhythmic noises of the jostling bedframe started to fade away. Desmond's body slowly unclenched and turned noodley-limp, limbs ceasing to support his weight. A warbled "Ohh gawwd" escaped him when he realized he wasn't on the bed anymore. Instead he was falling down a long deep rabbit hole. Or perhaps he was falling **up** it: he didn't really have a handle on his senses right now. He tried reaching out his hands, but they contacted nothing. "Fuck." The word echoed. Next he tried cracking his eyes open. Vague bluish light greeted him, and he blinked. "Whas' happen?" he slurred, feeling completely drained of energy.

"You were having some sort of... dream," came William's disgruntled voice from beside him.

"Bill? We... you... uurmgh." Desmond groaned and rubbed his face. The mindblowing cock pounding his ass was completely gone and replaced with a headache pounding behind his eyes. "Shit... nice dream," he mumbled.

There was a soft scraping sound as William shifted his sleeping bag a few more inches away.

Desmond closed his eyes again and wished for the interrupted memory to revisit itself upon him, but nothing doing: this was not the Animus and he could not just resume from a checkpoint. So he resigned himself to reality and wished for an ibuprofen instead, or at the very least for the world to stop swaying and the light to stop blaring. "Geez... Has that stupid blue force field always been so damn _bright_?"

"I am trying to sleep, Desmond."

Another pained groan was Desmond's reply. After that, he was quiet a few moments, then, when he felt his body was together enough to follow directions, he stumbled his way upright and said the incredibly coherent sentence, "Sorry, but just, I gotta, real quick, fuckin' bathroom, fuck." But in his defense, it was the only other thing he could think to say other than "I gotta go change boxers because I just had a wet-dream-cum-Bleeding-Effect about you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> be careful flying a helicopter over Manhattan you guys, I've seen some shit happen


	10. Renaissance Man

William was going out on recon again; one of their habitual checks of the area around the cave to make sure it was still undiscovered by anyone else. Desmond wanted to come with- anything to be alone together with him for a while- but his request was nixed.

"I'm sorry, Desmond," William said, and the apology seemed genuine, albeit shrouded in sternness. "We need you to find that key. That is your priority one task right now."

And so Desmond sighed and slumped back into the Animus. "Be careful out there, Bill," he said as William passed him. In answer, he received a fleeting pat on his shoulder. The touch soothed him, lingering warm despite the chill of the cave air. He smiled as the world fell away.

 

* * *

* * *

 

"I've t-told you everything! Now l-let me go!" the frightened Redcoat sputtered.

"Of course," Haytham purred, slinking around behind his chair. He flicked out his Hidden Blade. Desmond wondered, not for the first time, how and why he had one of those. Was he an ex-Assassin?

He didn't have even a second to ponder this before Haytham, instead of cutting the poor man free from his binds, cut open his throat and blood splashed all over the crisp clean front of his uniform.

Connor jumped back, disgusted. Desmond felt exactly the same. _The fuck, man? I thought you were one of the nicer Templars._

Haytham waved his forearm to flick the blood off his blade. "The other two said the same. It must be true," he said, sounding completely, inhumanly unaffected by his actions.

"You killed him." Connor's eyes leapt to the other two officers. He'd barely noticed them before, sitting motionless in the corners of the dingy shed. He saw now they were motionless due to death. "You killed all of them. Why?"

"They'd have warned the Loyalists," Haytham said, and there was an annoyed "duh" undertone to it, as if he was having to explain that fire was hot.

"You could have held them until the fight was done!"

"What? And waste precious time and money on their care?"

Desmond was disgusted again. That word, " _precious_ ", ignited something deep in his brain, and snatches of speech started to loop around him, with accompanying imagery in his mind's eye.

As Bill left on a mission, uncertain of his chances- _"Stay safe, my precious."_

As Bill raised a glass of wine, eyes sparkling with passion- _"Here's to another year together, precious."_

As Bill hugged him tight, warm breath filling his ear- _"When I'm with you, precious, I can very nearly forget about the Templars."_

"Precious" was a word he never wanted to hear from the lying lips of a Templar again.

"-mond! Hey! _Hey!_ Earth to Desmond!" He suddenly became aware of Rebecca shouting at him, and opened his eyes to the Animus loading area. "You feeling all right, bud?!"

"Wha... uh? Somethin' wrong, Becca?"

"You tell me," she retorted. "You desynced 'cause you were just standing there daydreaming instead of heading out to meet Washington."

"... _George_ Washington?"

"No, Greg Washington!" Shaun's disembodied voice snarked back. "Of fucking course _George_ Washington, you dope!"

Desmond facepalmed, feeling incredibly stupid. "Oh, right."

"The Bleeding Effect's supposed to make you _remember_ the past, not _forget_ it," Rebecca grumbled.

But he _was_ remembering the past. Though it was a completely different time period. And way less violent. At any rate, he definitely couldn't tell anyone the details. "It's not the Bleeding Effect, really. I'm just tired, is all. Can I get outta here for a little nap?"

Rebecca sighed. "Well, it is nearly ten-thirty...."

"Ten-thirty on December eighth!"

Desmond glared at the white sky. "Shut up, Shaun, I know what day it is!"

"I'm just reminding you we have less than two weeks-"

"I fucking know we have a deadline, okay!" he yelled, a lot louder than necessary, the words clipping harshly in the digital air. "But fucking Abstergo had a deadline too, and they still allowed me a normal sleep schedule!"

"Yea well, their deadline was arbitrary; it didn't involve a global cataclysm!"

But by the time Shaun had said this, Desmond was already out of the Animus. "I'm fucking sleeping now." He shoved Shaun out of his way and practically toppled into his sleeping bag. "Jus' try and stop me, asshole," he mumbled as he drifted off, hoping his brain might grant him another visit with Bill while he was out.

 

* * *

 

"Uuuuggh," Desmond ground out through gnashed-together teeth and dried-up lips.

-this pain, what the fuck is this pain, goddamn, god fucking _damn_ -

He'd grown accustomed to the Janet bleeds now; accustomed to the dizzying blend of emotions that seeped through the gaps in time; the sadness, the joy, the ups and downs of their life together.

He'd especially grown accustomed to Bill pleasuring her. And through her, him.

In truth, he was more than accustomed. He fucking _loved_ it.

But whatever was happening now was _not_ pleasure and he did _not_ love it.

\- god...fucking... _**damn**_ -

"Good, good," someone was saying from somewhere for some reason.

-the fuck are they talking about, I'm not "good" nothing about this is "good"-

A tender soft hand wiped away the sheen of sweat from Desmond's brow. The pain relented and he gasped in relief. "Bill," he croaked.

"I'm here," came the strong-gentle voice in his ear. "I'm here for you, precious. You can do this."

"I can't-"

"Yes you **can** ," Bill interrupted. "After all this, you can **not** give up on our child. He's almost here."

-child?- Desmond became suddenly aware of a heavy bigness weighing him down to the bed. -oh my god, we did it, we finally did it, we got pregnant, yes, yes, yes, fucking finally _yesss_ -

"Noooo!" The crushing pain was upon him again and he twisted his eyes shut to block the world from view and focus inward.

-oh fuck, I'm pregnant and _in labor_ , I'm giving birth, shit! no, it's her, Janet, Mom, _she's_ giving birth to _me_ holy shit this is painful can I wake up now please and thank you Bleeding Effect?!-

"Push again, Mrs. Miles, try to do a full ten seconds, hold it for me, okay?"

He bore down with all the instinctual might he could muster for one, two, three, four, five, god this was the worst, the absolute _worst_ , six, seven, but Bill's hands on his shoulders took a bit of the edge off, erased enough of the pain for him to keep going eight, nine, ten, "Ooof." He slumped back against the pillows, finally able to breathe.

"Good pushing, Mrs. Miles."

"Bi-ill," Desmond moaned, ignoring whoever else was there. "I want this boy out!"

An electrifying rustle of beard grazed his cheek with a kiss. "You're doing it, Jan. You're getting him out."

"Get him _out_!"

"He's almost there, hon. You're doing it." Bill ooched in beside Desmond on the bed, wrapped an arm around his, supporting him as he felt another tingling precursor to a contraction start to build. "You're amazing." Bill kissed him again. "I love you."

Desmond could feel his heart explode with delight at those words. He grinned despite the agony sprouting from his crotch, and started another round of pushing; one, two, three, four, -Bill loves me-, five, -and I love Bill-, six-

On seven, something slipped, popped, and Desmond's vision blurred and darkened.

"All right, baby's head is out."

His vision didn't matter, though; all that mattered was Bill's warm skin against him, his thrilling voice in his ears. With his love beside him, the pain seemed insignificant, fading now; the pushes were coming easier, like someone else was doing it for him.

"Push again, ten more seconds," a muddy voice burbled.

"I love you so much."

Desmond would push for ten **thousand** seconds if it meant he could keep hearing those words. The world was fading, his mind swimming with discordant stimuli, but Bill loved him and was there beside him touching him sweetly, so nothing else mattered.

There was no more pain. The only feeling he was conscious of was one of overarching abundant joy, bursting out of his very soul.

But then his whole conciousness shrank, down to a speck, a mote of shriveled wetness. The stranger in the room said something else, something which floated over him, incomprehensibly alien. Bill's reassuring warmth was completely gone, leaving Desmond cold, afraid, naked, alone-

* * *

 

As he awoke, a cry was already leaving his throat, and Rebecca was by his sleeping bag, eyes full of worry. "Desmond, wake up, calm down, chill!"

He wailed like a weirdly deep-voiced infant for half a second more before catching himself. "Oh. Shit. Bill." He blinked, sat up, coughed into his hand. "Bill," he said again, voice breaking.

"You okay? What about Bill?"

Desmond barely even registered Rebecca's presence there. "It's over, it's done, there's no more memory, it's down to me," he said, the words running together in a hushed ramble. "My life. My actual life. Bill's gone and now there's only Dad, and he doesn't love me."

Rebecca didn't catch all of the mumbled words, just that last part. "Your dad loves you, okay?" She gripped Desmond's hand in hers. "He just has trouble showing it sometimes."

"You sure?"

She patted his back. "You're his son, I'm sure he loves you."

"I'm not his son. I ran away. I abandoned him. And Mom too. They worked so hard to have me, and then I fuckin' abandoned them." Desmond inhaled through his nose in a dry sniffle. "If I'm his son, I'm a pretty crappy son. And a crappy Assassin, to boot."

Rebecca punched his arm jokingly. "You are the complete opposite of 'crappy Assassin'. You're saving the whole world."

"It's not fuckin' saved **yet** , is it?" Desmond spat back. "Coulda been saved a lot sooner if I didn't waste all those years mixing martinis. Now we're down to the last fuckin' weeks before the sun goes kablooey and I'm losing my fuckin' mind to the Bleeding Effect."

Rebecca pulled away from him a little bit. "How bad is it? How long are they lasting?" Her upbeat positivity had gone and turned into a cold clinical assessment of his mental status.

Desmond hung his head. "I don't know."

"Just audiovisual hallucinations, or actual identity shift?"

He crossed his arms and frowned. "Does it even matter?"

"Of course it matters!"

He glared at her. "No. It doesn't matter." He jabbed a finger toward the big blue wall. "Whatever's in there is our only chance." He then swung his arm to point at the Animus. "And that thing's the only way we're gonna find the key to open it in time." He stood up abruptly and started heading over to it. "So we gotta stop wasting time. The Bleeding Effect fucking up my mind is _nothing_ , Becca, compared to the Sun fucking up the Earth."


	11. Crossing the Rubicon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wait, since when am I putting chapter titles on these things??? since now I guess...

He threw himself into the next memory, hardening his resolve to finish churning through them quickly so they could finally find that damn key. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that his genetic memories of Bill, his one respite from the shitshow of his present-day life, were finished.

One memory he was hurtling through the forest on horseback- the steed was the color of Bill's magnificent hair; he tangled his fingers in the mane breathlessly- the next he was fistfighting natives, and the next directing cannonfire at advancing troops. He didn't even care anymore about the historical context of the events or his ancestor's motives for the actions he took. What did it matter if Kanen'tó:kon's death could have been avoided? He couldn't sync the memory without killing him, and he couldn't save the Earth without syncing the memory. All the deaths in the past were but a stepping stone to avoid deaths in the present.

He boarded a ship, assassinated its captain, and detonated its gunpowder stores. The night was so foggy. He could barely see. He was so tired. - _you're almost there, you're doing it, precious, you can't give up now_ -

Time moved forward in skips and plods. He maneuvered an injured groggy Connor through a half-destroyed Templar fort, seeking Charles Lee. Instead he encountered Haytham, and they fought. Of course they fought. Desmond kicked the smug prick into a barrel, then they were both knocked flat by the shockwave of a nearby cannon impact. Blood littered the ground, dripping from both men, mixing with a dull drizzle of rain.

They struggled. Haytham ended up pinning him to the ground, fingers tightening around his son's neck. - _Blood doesn't matter. Family members or total strangers can end up hating or loving or fucking or fighting each other. Everything is possible. Nothing lasts forever_.-

But Haytham was more careless than Cross: he left his foe's arms unfettered, and in one swift motion Connor's Hidden Blade severed the bloodflow in his neck. He sputtered out some almost touching last words as he lay dying in the dirt. Connor bid him farewell in his native tongue and walked away.

So that was it. Haytham Kenway was dead. He didn't have the all-important amulet on him, though. "Fucking fuck," Desmond spat into empty air. "Where the fuck is it, then?"

A feathery wind tugged him out of the bright sterile loading area and back to the cold dim cave. "Connor's memories have to have the answer somewhere," Rebecca said. "We'll keep going tomorrow. You need a break. Have something to eat and then hit the sack."

"I just got _up_ from the sack," Desmond protested, rubbing his eyes.

"You had like two hours of sleep and then you were in the Animus for almost eight!" Rebecca tapped a computer screen showing ominous red bars. "The vital sign monitor doesn't lie. You need to recharge."

Desmond reluctantly got up from the Animus, frustrated by the deep body ache he felt as he did so. Rebecca had explained the cause of this to him a while back: some shit about the memories being so vivid that they activated micro-movements of his muscles. _This pain is good_ , he reminded himself as he mixed powdered soup and water into a semi-edible muck. _It's just like exercise. Don't want your muscle to turn into couch potato flab, right? You'd feel so self-conscious in bed with Bill..._ "Oh." He blinked and shook his head. _There is no more "in bed with Bill", dumbass._

He tried not to even look at Bill as he tucked himself into his sleeping bag that night.

 

* * *

 

"Wake up, sleepyhead." These harsh bitter words jarred Desmond's eyes open.

He wasn't in his sleeping bag anymore. He wasn't even in the Temple. He was in a dark crate-cluttered room, longer than it was wide. He tried to get up but found he was tied down to a chair with his hands bound behind it.

"I've finally got you," the acid voice said, and Desmond looked around more to try and find the speaker. Suddenly he was face-to-face with jagged stubble, cold eyes, and a sinister smirk. "Not so tough now, huh?"

"You!" Desmond gasped.

"Don't you even know my fucking name?" The man spat in his face. "It's Daniel Cross. Don't you dare forget it." He stood up and started to pace the length of the room. "A fucking _fake_ name, picked by that dick Vidic," he muttered to himself, "but the only goddamn name I've got."

With some difficulty, Desmond was able to partially wipe the saliva off onto his shirt shoulder. He noticed the floor vibrating and realized there was a low engine rumble coming from somewhere close. "Are we in a moving van?"

Cross darted back to the chair and smacked him across the face with the butt of his pistol. "Did I say you could fucking talk?!"

"Where are the others?" Desmond growled, unintimidated. "What did you do to-"

Cross smacked him again. "You sure got a mouth on you."

Desmond spat blood onto the floor and retorted, "Why didn't you gag me then?"

Cross' countenance grew dark. "I got a better idea." He traced the fingers of one hand over Desmond's face and lips. "You're kinda..." The next word was something in a foreign language, but Desmond was less concerned with the meaning and more concerned with the gun barrel that was up against his head.

With a sick grin, Cross said more unknown syllables and patted Desmond's cheek. Then he was reaching down and unzipping his fly.

An automatic "No" left Desmond in a soft breath.

"Yes," Cross insisted, pressing the gun more firmly to Desmond's temple. He made a show of caressing himself through his dingy briefs for the longest thirty seconds of recorded history before getting his cock out and pointing it at Desmond. "Suck it."

Desmond looked up from the nasty cock to meet Cross' eyes, hoping to somehow persuade him otherwise.

"You don't have any other choice here," Cross said, kicking Desmond's shin for good measure. "Suck it, bitch." He mashed his cock against Desmond's mouth, past his lips, till his nose was full of pubic stench. "And _nyet_ biting, unless you want your brains all over the floor."

Desmond clenched his watery eyes shut and sobbed, unable to stomach this situation.

Cross laughed shrilly, and the laugh shook all the way through his body and down into his cock. "Where is your precious Bill now, sweetie?" he shrieked. "Where is the great and powerful Assassin Mentor when his loved one needs him?"

_**BANG!** _

Desmond flinched back from the ringing shot, jaw tightening automatically around the putrid penis, and he fully expected Cross's next bullet to pierce his skull for the infraction.

But no next bullet was forthcoming. "Right here, jackass."

Desmond's eyes flew open at that voice, that powerful, life-altering, beautiful voice. There was Bill, in all his gray-haired glory, shirtless, gun-toting, and positively _ripped_.

And there was Daniel Cross, falling backwards, lifeless, hole in his head.

The cock flopped from Desmond's lips and he spat the nasty funk that remained onto the floor. "Bill! Thank god!"

Bill holstered his gun and came over to slice through the ropes that held Desmond captive. "Are you all- oh never mind, of course you're not all right, I saw what was happening." He shot a damning scowl at the dead Templar. "Sick bastard."

As soon as he could, Desmond leapt up and embraced his savior. "Bill, oh Bill... I thought you were dead!"

"I've faked my death before, precious, and I'll likely do it again," Bill laughed.

"Oh god, you asshole." Desmond wiped his eyes and kissed Bill's ear. "You lovable fucking asshole."

"Let's get out of here, shall we?"

"Don't gotta tell me twice."

Bill chuckled and scooped Desmond into his arms, carried him out into the daylight.

Desmond rested his head on Bill's chest, listening to his steady heartbeat. "When we get a chance," he murmured softly, "can I suck your cock to get the taste of his out of my mouth?"

"Oh, Desmond.... You can. You absolutely can."

 

* * *

 

Desmond awoke feeling all mixed up. _What was that?_ His breath was jagged and shallow. _I finished all Mom's memories already, right?_ He felt way too warm, but at the same time, cold somehow. Alone. Needy.

He glanced over to his left. There beside him, frowning even in his sleep, lay the savior from his... whatever that was. _Dream._ He remembered the word with a mental laugh. _Yeah. A dream. Shit, I forgot people just have dreams sometimes, just regular dreams that don't come from their ancestors and don't mean they're slowly going insane._

He sighed silently, eyes caught by the haunting blue glint reflected off William's tiny metal shirt buttons. _God, why did he have to sleep with his shirt on tonight?_ Desmond's hand wandered over to try and rectify this situation.

At first he was trying to be delicate about it, trying not to wake him up. But almost immediately he decided not to give a fuck if he woke. _Those genetic memories are all behind me now. If I want any more "Bill"... I gotta get it from this "William" he's become._

He'd barely opened the top two buttons when William's eyes flickered open and he made a small startled sound. "Desmond? So-ohn?" he said cautiously, the last word squeaking into two syllables as a hand brushed up into his armpit.

"Hm?" Deep brown eyes gazed back at him.

"Stop. Stop." William scooted away from his son's roaming grasp. "It's the Bleeding Effect, Desmond. Come back to yourself."

Desmond covered his mouth to muffle his laughter. "I'm myself, Bill, okay? Desmond Miles, three-thirteen-eightyseven, a.k.a. Subject Seventeen, a.k.a. the bartender who's supposed to save the planet somehow."

William's chest rose and fell with slow, heavy breaths. His mouth moved vaguely but nothing came out.

"I- I know this is weird, but it's- it's what I want." Desmond undid another button on the shirt. "And, y'know, 'everything is permitted', right?" He looked at William pleadingly.

"You- you want... What exactly is it that you want?" William hoped desperately this was all some extreme misunderstanding.

"Well..." There went another button. "This."

William frowned. "Say it."

Desmond smiled and gave a little headshake. "That's my Bill. Always has to hear me say it." He put one hand on his chest, over his heart. "I, Desmond Miles... want to..." he wavered a little.

William's heart palpitated so loud it seemed to echo around the two of them.

"Want to... y'know... sex you up."

And there it was. The implication had been made explicit. William had absolutely zero clue on what to do now. He glanced across the cave to Rebecca and Shaun, both sound asleep in their own bags. His right index finger tapped fretfully on the stone floor.

Desmond's hand went from his chest to cover William's hand. "Nobody else has to know. We'll be stealthy. Everything is permitted."

"Dammit, Desmond!" William hissed through his teeth, shaking off the hand. "You can't apply the Creed to something like this!"

Desmond shrugged one shoulder. "Sure I can. It's a whole life philosophy, isn't it? I mean, there's nothing wrong with incest if both parties consent and nobody gets pregnant, right?"

"Well, I'm not consenting. And you're not either." William began to rebutton his shirt. "You might think otherwise, but I can tell you're not in your right mind right now. You're obviously still bleeding Janet."

"I'm not. I finished with her. It's down to me. I mean, yeah, Janet's what started this, but-" Desmond stopped and was suddenly puzzled. "You **knew** I was bleeding Janet?"

"I figured it out once you-" William also halted midsentence, unable to say the words "kissed me". After a feverish moment he said, "I figured it out."

Desmond processed this for a couple seconds. "So... you know how I feel."

"You think you're my wife."

"No, I don't," Desmond insisted. "I just fucking said I'm Desmond Miles. Is it so impossible that someone besides your wife would wanna sleep with you? I mean, you are a pretty handsome specimen for your age."

William harrumphed.

"Oh shit, I'm sorry." Desmond stifled another laugh. "Didn't mean any offense. But... I need you, Bill. Like..." He started to make a suggestive hand gesture, but cut it short. "I physically need you."

William's face twitched. "If you know you're not Janet, then you know how ridiculous that... idea is."

"Come on! It's not ridiculous!" Desmond felt tears threatening. "Don't you love me?"

"Forget it, Desmond." William wrapped himself back in the sleeping bag and turned to face away.

Desmond stared into his back for a minute before letting out a dry sob of defeat, getting up, and shuffling to the "bathroom", where he methodically took care of his stubborn erection. _Fuck my fucking life._


	12. Chasing Heart

Desmond jacked off as quickly as he could manage, trying to think of his old forgotten-name girlfriend, of Caterina, of Rebecca, of anyone else besides goddamn Bill. He came with a half-assed grunt and collapsed to his knees on the floor, feeling empty.

_"Don't you love me?"_

_"Forget it, Desmond."_

The bitter reply and its implication echoed around him in the little stone niche. He bit back a sob and tried to let the cold waterfall wash away his feelings.

_Fuck my fucking life._

Afterward, he dragged his sleeping bag far across the cave from William, who was back sound asleep as if nothing whatsoever was wrong. Or at least, doing a very good job of faking that he was asleep.

 

* * *

 

The next day, he trudged directly to the Animus without stopping to even eat. He didn't have the heart to face the man at the breakfast table. 

But he couldn't avoid seeing him for long. He'd barely started the next memory when Rebecca pulled him out. William was calling them all together with some urgent information. "Another power source. I'm going to retrieve it this time. You all are to remain here."

"No, Bill!" Eyes wide, Desmond rushed over and wrapped his father in a sudden hug. "Don't leave."

The unexpected intimate gesture rattled William. " _Son._ Pull yourself together." He crowbarred the long strong arms away.

Desmond stuffed his hands in his pockets, feeling foolish at his lack of emotional control, hoping the dark of the cave was hiding his blush. "Sorry. But why can't I- why can't _we_ come and help?"

"The fiasco in Manhattan reminded me how little experience you three have," William said coolly.

Desmond was stunned. "What?"

"Excuse me?" Shaun sputtered.

Rebecca looked a little offended as well.

"You in particular, Desmond, demonstrated quite clearly that you're not up to field work yet."

"I repeat, 'What?' How the hell was it a fiasco?" Desmond demanded.

William frowned harder at him. "You would have been killed if not for Cross' convenient Bleeding Effect."

"But- but we got the power source!"

"Yes, well. That was sheer dumb luck. I'm more experienced. And I'm your _father_." He said the last word with an undertone of fierce disgust.

 _Oh, so **that's** it. He's jumping on this mission because of... what I told him._ Desmond's posture slumped a little. "Okay. Just... stay safe out there, p-" he very nearly added "precious" on the end, but managed to transform it into an awkward "Pops."

Rebecca and Shaun exchanged a glance. "Pops?" she mouthed silently to him. He shrugged.

 

* * *

 

The atmosphere in the Animus was muggy, dim, like he was seeing the memories through a half-fogged camera lens. Desmond still felt the pain, though, clear as day, when Connor's stealth failed him and a Templar goon smacked him with the butt of a pistol, forcing him to kneel before the slimeball Charles Lee.

Lee brought out the Precursor amulet. It shone jade in the evening air as he fingered it and spoke of its previous holder. "He sent me away. That day at Fort George. He feared for my safety. I should have stayed. He said there was no danger."

"He was wrong," Connor said, cold and blunt.

Lee leant in and whispered, "I will kill you, Connor. This I swear." His eyes darted around the crowded churchyard. "Not here, though. Not today. No... First- first I'll destroy all you hold dear. I'll burn that homestead of yours to the ground, and roast the severed heads of your precious founding fathers in its flames."

 _Precious father-_ Desmond wanted to jump up and shank him right there, never mind the civilian onlookers, but Connor was impossibly cool-headed and just sat through the monologue.

"And when I've finished with them, all the rest will burn as well. Your merry band of Assassins. The human refuse that lives on your land. Your village and its people. All of it - gone!"

"You can try, Charles. But as with all your schemes, this too will end in failure." At this cocksure attitude, Desmond mentally rolled his eyes.

Lee scowled. "Get him on his feet. He will wait. He will watch. And then, when he's seen all his life's work brought to ruin... Only then will I allow him to die. Take him away."

The goons dragged him from the funeral and started beating up on him. Only then did Connor finally fight back. Desmond raged his way through two waves of the Templar mercenaries, then followed the dying words of the last one over to the harbor. A ship a few hundred meters out was crawling with enemies, and he was desynched several times due to being spotted by one.

After what seemed like hours of frustration, it turned out Lee was nowhere on the damn ship after all. Desmond ignored the optional sync constraint his heads-up display was offering- "Kill the _HMS Jersey_ 's captain"- and just dove into the chill water.

"God _fucking_ damn it," he swore when he resurfaced in the loading area. "Bitch-ass Templar sent me on a wild goose chase."

"Keep your chin up, we're close," Shaun's disembodied voice said. "This next memory coincides with Lee's death date." He coughed. "The official one in the history books, at least. Animus has shown us that's not always a hundred percent accurate, so, yeah."

"Whatever." Desmond shook off the lingering virtual waterdrops. "As long as Connor killed that bastard and got that amulet, I don't care the exact date it happened. Hurry up an' load the next one."

"The next one" involved an angry Connor returning to the Green Dragon tavern to intimidate Lee's real location out of someone.

And then, like the brewery memory not too long ago, _another_ chase through a fiery location.

Desmond was light-headed from oxygen deprivation as he ran through the burning ship. _Running, chasing, fleeing, always and forever. Such is the life of the Assassin._ He ached to just lie down and rest. In a real bed would be nice; not the el-cheapo sleeping bags he'd had to contend with for past months. And ideally he'd have someone by his side; to hold him and kiss him and keep him warm and

 _ **Shit.**_ A sudden desync jolted him from these pleasant fantasies. Apparently he'd miscalculated a jump and Connor had fallen to his untimely death. Desmond swore again, then retried the memory, attempting to keep his mind better focused on the task at hand.

Finally they arrived on the upper deck. Connor pounced on Lee, but the planks beneath them gave way. A jutting shard of wood pierced his side and he cried out in pain.

Lee towered over him, smug and smarmy. "Why do you persist? You put us down. We rise again. You end one plot. We forge another. You try so hard. But it always ends the same. Those who know you think you mad. Even those men you sought to save have turned their backs on you. Yet you fight. You resist. Why?"

As Lee rambled on, Connor had been slowly fumbling for his pistol. Once the Templar had finally shut up for a second, he spat "Because no one else will!" and shot him in the gut.

Desmond felt accomplished as Lee sputtered, stumbled, and bled, but this feeling was short-lived. The world was fading, growing dimmer and blurrier even than it had been before. _Connor's injury must be worse than I thought... but he's gotta make it through... gotta have descendants... be a good father to someone...._

 

* * *

 

He woke a short while later, and Lee was nowhere to be seen. _Shit. He got away. Again._ Connor got to his feet and made his way weakly out into town. A friendly harbormaster tipped him off that his target had traveled upriver, and so he was soon relaxing in a ship cabin, letting his wounds heal a bit.

As Connor cleaned his bloody torso, Desmond was reminded of the time on the Farm, years and years back, when he'd landed poorly from a practice Leap of Faith, and bruised his ribs something terrible. _Bill, William, Dad_ was there, putting some salve on his injured back. Desmond hissed at the stinging chill.

_"Dad, I don't like this Assassin stuff."_

_William sighed. "It is difficult sometimes. But if you put in the effort-"_

_"I don't wanna put in the effort!"_

_William slapped a last bit of salve on and stood up. "You can't escape this life, Desmond. The Brotherhood is in your blood. Every one of us is a target and every one of us has to be trained." He pointed out the window. "Abstergo is out there, looking for us every day. One of these days, they might find us. And you have to be prepared to fight them."_

His reminiscence was cut short by an electronic crackle as he was ejected from the memory and the Animus in one fell swoop. "Something's happened, Desmond." Rebecca's voice was rough and scratchy, lacking its usual bounce. So he knew it was bad news even before she said, "Abstergo has your dad."

Desmond's face became hard and determined. "Where?"

"Italy." Shaun looked up from his laptop. "Same place they were holding you."

Desmond jumped out of the Animus and headed for the cave entrance. A couple seconds later he looked back. Shaun and Rebecca hadn't moved from their seats. "What are you two waiting for? Let's go."

"There's more," Rebecca said. Desmond noticed something on her computer screen, and came over to have a look.

A grainy video started to play. Bill was tied to a chair in the middle of a bare and dingy room.

And Vidic was there...

 

* * *

 

a short while earlier...

"What's taking so long?" Vidic demanded. "Why hasn't there been any progress?"

His subordinate, a bespectacled man with two-days-unwashed hair, tried to explain. "Sir, it seems we simply... can't locate the target individual in the subject's genome."

A frozen moment passed, then Vidic's eyes went wide. "Goddammit!" He slammed his fist down on the desk. "That tricky bastard. He's been playing the long game on us all these years. Now we're just wasting our time!"

"Sir? What should we do with him?"

Vidic stewed in silence for a while before standing up. "I'll talk to him."

 

* * *

 

 _Damn, damn, damn,_ William was silently cursing himself. He'd made such a fuss over those kids not being up to field work and now he'd gone and gotten captured through ironic overconfidence in his own abilities. _I was foolish, overeager, blinded to the dangers of a solo mission._ _And this Desmond business too; my mind was preoccupied with his stupid misguided longing._ He shook his head and frowned at the concrete floor.

A platoon of goons had rushed him from out of the museum's back storage room, trussed him up and shipped him off to their Animus facility, subjected him, like his son, to forced Animus sessions. He'd fought back, resisted synchronization as much as he could, and was rewarded after that by being tied up in this chair and left in the dark. Next he figured they would try to beat him into submission, or inflict some other torture to make him beg for their mercy. "Hmph." _I'll never break. Never._

Abruptly the door to his cell opened, blinding him with light. When he blinked the spots out of his vision, a familiar silhouette was there.

"At last we meet, oh great Mentor." Vidic's voice oozed with contempt. He shut the door behind him and flicked a switch, turning on a bare bulb hanging from the ceiling. "So... William. If that is your real name."

William didn't show any reaction.

"Names are not the important thing right now, though." Vidic slunk around behind his captive, trailing cold fingernails over his shoulder, up to a vein in his neck. "What's important is flesh and blood. DNA, to be precise."

In that moment, William's heart shuddered briefly. He knew what the Templar was getting at, but still he remained stoic.

"Tell me, 'William'... how did you find this genetic treasure trove? How did you locate the one-in-six-billion boy that has all these famous Assassins in his ancestry? The boy that can converse with Precursors so easily and gain their second sight without even trying?" Vidic bent to speak in his ear. "Did you know, when you kidnapped him, that he was so special?"

At this accusation William could no longer hold his tongue. "You're the ones that kidnapped him."

 _Finally, he speaks._ A thin smile split Vidic's face. "You kidnapped him first, it seems. Now tell me, who is his real father?"

"I am."

"Come now, 'William'." Vidic put his other hand on William's neck as well, looking for all the world like he was planning to strangle him in the next second, but the fingers were calm and still. "Our testing has shown plain and simple that you are not."

William fought to keep his voice somewhat controlled. "Desmond has never been kidnapped except by your lackeys. We raised him; my wife and I. When she _gave birth_ to him, I was there at her side."

Vidic thought he detected the slightest tremble in his captive's voice. 

"He is our _son_ , and I am his _father_."

Vidic leered at him. "Then it seems your wife has not been faithful."

"Perhaps not by your definition of the word," William spat, the beginnings of anger starting to show in the hard lines of his brow. "You Templars are a very inflexible lot."

Vidic laughed shortly. "Oh-ho. So you _knew_."

William chose not to reply. He hadn't _known_ , not exactly. He had been aware of the possibility, though.

"Who's his biological father, then?"

William stayed silent.

"Ah, well." Vidic let go his neck and straightened up. "I will find out one way or another. For now, please smile for the camera."

A red light lit up in front of William. He hung his head, suspecting what was to come, hoping the other Assassins wouldn't take the bait.

Vidic began to speak. "Hello again, Mr. Miles. I hope this message finds you well. Or as well as it can, all things considered. It appears we now each have something the other desires. I propose a trade."

William looked up, making eye contact with the camera, and shook his head _No._

"Bring me the Apple and I'll return your father to you no worse for the wear. Should you refuse, he will still be returned, albeit _much_ worse for the wear." Vidic crossed his arms. "I assume you'd like to avoid an unpleasant outcome."

 

* * *

 

Just seeing Vidic's smug-ass face was enough to make Desmond's blood simmer, but that oily sinister _voice_ turned his anger up to boiling. He couldn't bear to see Bill, or William, or _anyone_ he loved in that doctor's mad clutches. He didn't even wait for the video to finish before strapping on his Hidden Blade and packing up his backpack.

"What are you doing?" Shaun asked, incredulous. "You're not seriously-"

"Going to rescue him? Of _course_ I'm going to rescue him," Desmond snapped. "He's fucking important to me!" 

Shaun exhaled. "Look, mate, family or not, he's one man. And what we're doing here concerns the fate of _seven billion_ people."

"I can't just leave him there and let him be tortured like I was!" 

"You're insane," Rebecca said. "That's Abstergo's main headquarters. You have any idea how well that place is guarded? You only got out 'cause of Lucy!"

"Well this time, we've got an edge." Desmond picked up the Apple of Eden and hefted it in his hand.

"And what if that's not enough?"

Desmond faced the other two Assassins. "Look, you're not gonna change my mind on this."

Shaun rubbed his head. "Your mindset is bloody baffling. I thought you didn't even like him; and now you're risking your life- _everyone's_ lives- to save him?"

"Don't like him? Hah!" Desmond actually laughed out loud. "That's- well, sometimes he can be an asshole, yeah." He closed his eyes, a microcosm of feelings and memories rushing through him, swirling hot and passionate and unexplainable.

A man standing on the boundary of the Farm, warning his son not to stray beyond it.

A man standing with his bride on a raised wooden platform, modestly resplendent in his homespun tuxedo.

A man calling desperately into dark woods after his fleeing son, tears audible in his voice.

A man caressing the soft features of his lover's face, tears visible in his eyes.

A man sitting silent vigil by his comatose son. 

A man sitting trapped in a mad scientist's lab. 

They were all one and the same man. Mentor, lover, fighter, father: for all his multitude of titles, Bill-William-Dad was only human, only trying to do what was right, only trying to get along in a complex and sometimes cruel world.

"But what can I say? I love that asshole."


	13. You Are All I Can See

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> many liberties have been taken with the way this mission goes in-game

They tried to change his mind. They tried to just, y'know, not take him. Desmond couldn't very well get across the Atlantic on his own initiative.

But he was stubborn, and insisted. "What, you want me to just be a good little subject and get back in the Animus?"

Shaun glared at him. "That _is_ the task you were assigned, yes, and it's a rather important task, actually. Or have you forgotten the bloody reason we're down in this cave?"

"The fucking sun, yeah, sure," Desmond shot back, teeth bared. "But we've got fucking _ten days_ before that shit goes down!"

"Ten days is not a whole lot of time! You-"

Desmond slammed his hands down on Shaun's desk. "Look, I'm not gonna waste time dicking around in the past when Bill's being fucking tortured _right now_. So let's fucking _go_. End of story."

He would not get in the Animus until his father was back safe and sound. They had to give in, then. After a bit of cyber-string-pulling to wrangle plane tickets and cover IDs, they headed out, Shaun grumbling under his breath, Rebecca shushing him.

 

* * *

 

Desmond strode confidently, almost defiantly, through the concourse of Abstergo's Rome research facility. The employees went about their business almost like usual, but he could tell they were stealing glances at him.

"They're probably holding him on the upper levels, same place they kept you," Rebecca said through his earpiece. "There's an elevator bank down the hall. Try not to let them see you."

He clucked his tongue and answered her quietly. "They know I'm here. No point hiding now."

A long-suffering sigh from Shaun came through. "This... this was a _bad_ idea."

Desmond just kept on walking, passing by glass-enclosed conference rooms and slate-black desks. From the corner of his eye he spotted the motion of a fidgety employee pressing a button. _And there we go._ Desmond took a breath to prepare himself.

Many dozens of labcoated men and women had abandoned their work now, staring quite openly at the Assassin in their midst. Desmond stared back calmly. It wasn't really them he was seeing, though, but his own reflection on the glass. He realized he wasn't all that formidable a figure: dingy off-white hoodie, wrinkled jeans, slight stubble. But he seemed to inspire trepidation in these Templars. _Good,_ he thought, lips pulling tight in an almost-sneer at them.

Not everyone was rattled by his presence, though. A small group of security guards had shown up at the end of the hallway. "Hand over your weapons and come with me, sir," one said.

Desmond wasn't fazed. "I can show myself in, but thanks for the offer."

"I'd rather this not turn ugly, Mister Miles," boomed Vidic over a loudspeaker.

"Then let me through!"

"Subdue the subject, please."

The guards whipped out stun batons.

 _"Subdue", huh? So they want me alive._ Desmond smirked and flexed his blade arm. _Too bad for them the feeling isn't mutual._

 

* * *

 

William had accustomed himself to the footstep rhythm of the men guarding his cell. They paced back and forth at precise and consistent intervals, hardly ever wavering a half-second. Together, the four feet contributed to a monotonous and steady song, oddly soothing to his captive ears.

The song went askew when one guard went down. Then the other.

William watched the door. A soft tinkling of beeps later, it slid open, revealing Desmond, clothes splashed all over with blood. He gave William a silent smile, then looked about the little room for any more danger before slipping in and shutting the door again. "So. Who's inexperienced now?"

Once his binds were cut loose, William shoved himself out of the chair and shot Desmond a look filled with scorn. "You never should have come here. You risked everything, **everything**. And for what? So you could rescue your father?"

Forgoing a yes or no answer, Desmond looked dead-on into William's eyes and said, "So I could rescue **you**."

A beat passed.

"You're an asshole sometimes, Bill-"

 _Again "Bill" not "Dad"._ William fought to keep his composure.

"-but you're the Mentor; you're our leader; we need you." _I need you._ Desmond swallowed. "Yeah, maybe it was wrong to risk everything to come here, but I did. And I killed a shitload of Templars on my way in."

William's rigid face came slowly down from its high-horse perch of contempt, to resemble something approaching hard-won approval. Perhaps pride, even. Desmond smiled, and in that instant, he looked so like his mother, William couldn't help but feel the corners of his mouth turn upwards as well.

Desmond opened his arms and William stepped into the offered embrace. The younger man rubbed his cheek over the beard of the elder. "Love you," he whispered, but loud enough to be clearly audible.

Those words caused a shift, palpable in the air, and William felt suddenly ill at ease. "Desmond?" he queried hesitantly.

Desmond only closed his eyes and held him tighter. Chests together, their heartbeats thudded in synchronicity.

William tried to disengage. "We should go."

Desmond pulled back and looked keenly at him, those deep brown eyes sparkling with warmth.

And then he dove forward and placed his lips against William's.

"Desm-"

But he just kissed _harder_ , restraining any further sound from escaping. His hands pressed furiously into the fabric of William's woolen suit, desperate to feel the muffled shape of the body beneath.

All too soon, he was pushed away. "Desmond! What the hell-"

"You know exactly what the hell!" Desmond spat back. "Shit, I know you're a little stupid about social cues, but I fucking _told_ you what I want!"

"You are disgusting."

"Why? Because I'm a goddamn sexual human being with sexual desires?! Sorry, not my fucking fault!"

"This desire is _wrong_ ," William hissed, wanting to yell it but still mindful that they were in enemy territory.

Desmond grabbed his wrists with sudden strength. "Everything. Is. Permitted." he breathed into his ear. "And I've seen Mom's memories. I know about those threesomes. That one foursome, too. You're definitely a little bit bi."

William turned his head away. "M- maybe I am, or I was back then, but either way, it- it doesn't concern you." A rare stutter was creeping into his voice.

"Oh but it does. Because I want you. I fantasize about you. All the fucking time." Desmond pointed to the cold steel table in the middle of the room. "Right now I'm thinking how awesome it would feel to have you bend me over that table and pound my ass. _Hard._ "

William was stunned into silence.

Desmond gave a cocky smile. "And if you thought that was filthy, you should hear what's been going through my head while I jack off lately. Ezio would blush like a fucking schoolgirl."

Still silence.

"C'mon. Don't _you_ ever fantasize?" Desmond's eyes roamed down to William's jeans.

William stepped back a couple feet. "Need I remind you we're deep in the goddamn enemy headquarters?"

Desmond's eyes snapped back up. This, finally, was enough to make him put aside his lust. Temporarily, at least. "Right, right, we gotta get out of here."

"Right," William said, straightening his jacket with a firm tug. "So. Where are the others?"

"Watching our exit point." Desmond tapped a button on his earpiece. "Hey guys. I got 'im. ...No, no trouble. Just took longer than I thought. On our way out now. Yeah. Got it." He nodded and unfastened the straps of his Hidden Blade, then handed it to William.

"Don't you need that?"

"They took yours, didn't they? You wanna fight our way to where it's locked up, or just get the hell outta here? You're more important than some stupid metal and leather." Desmond pushed the weapon into William's hands, then patted something in his hoodie pocket. "I'll be good; I've got the Apple."

"You- you _brought it?!_ " William sputtered. "Are you out of your mind?"

Desmond's smile hardened. "I was never gonna trade it for you, all right? If they're gonna take it, they gotta pry it from my cold dead hands."

"That's rather the point, isn't it? They will _kill you_."

"Nah, I'm more valuable to them alive; they still hope to get me back for Subject 17 round 2." Desmond gestured to the door. "Now c'mon, let's get a move on."

 

* * *

 

William didn't say another word as they fought their way out. He didn't know what sort of things he would say, anyway.

It was surreal to watch the Apple glow in Desmond's hand, arcing light beams turning veteran Abstergo soldiers into cowering lumps on the floor, or marionetting them into shooting each other. And Desmond did it with no visible hesitation or regret. William could hardly believe this was the same man that had run away from his obligations to the Brotherhood, or the same man who'd said they should seek a truce with their eternal enemies.

 _The same man who wants me to "pound his ass."_ He shook his head to try and clear that concept from his mind.

The sky was a slate gray when they finally exited the building and met up with the others in a parked car some blocks away. "Everyone good?" Shaun asked as they buckled in. "Right, let's head out."

As they drove, Desmond tried to subtly hold William's hand. But there was no amount of subtlety that would let this escape the elder Assassin's notice, and he pointedly put his hands in his pockets until the drive was over.

Radio reported that all Italy's major flight hubs were coincidentally under lockdown now- "Templars run the airports too?" "Fucking of course they do, git." -so they would have to drive "all the way to Switzerland or bloody France" to make the final leg of their journey home. Hence, they stopped overnight at a low-rent motel that seemed far enough out in the boonies to be relatively safe. For an added security measure, they checked in as two separate parties.

If William had been more awake during the last hour of the ride, when these plans were being discussed, he probably would have vetoed himself and Desmond comprising one of those parties.

 

* * *

 

"Bill," Desmond said, looking up from the microwave meatloaf dinner. "Or Dad or whatever."

William looked at him, disinterested.

"We... we needa talk about this."

 _This._ William knew at once what was being referred to. "Oh. That."

"Yeah. We needa talk about it."

"Do we really?"

"Well. It's affecting me; affecting my concentration." Desmond put down his spork and started enumerating instances on his fingers. "I can't hardly sleep. I desynced from the Animus a couple times. I almost missed the cue with the parachute."

William stabbed his own spork into the last hunk of his dinner. "So clearly you need to get over it."

"Gee **Dad** , if only it were that easy!"

William swallowed the meatloaf and tossed the spork into the trash bin. "What do you want me to do?" he asked Desmond. "I'm no neuroscientist. I can't undo the Bleeding Effect. No matter how much I wish I could." His words had begun with scathing bite, but as they went on they softened a bit.

"It's not the Bleeding Effect. Not anymore." Desmond fidgeted with the peeling edge of the table. "I think maybe if... if I get some, y'know, real-world release?"

"Have you not tried that already?" William asked, lip curling dubiously.

"Masturbating doesn't help. Not anymore." Desmond put on his best puppy-dog eyes. "I need _you_ , Bill."

William's mouth twitched. _Ridiculous. Absolutely ridiculous. Why am I even considering the idea?_ After a lengthy silence, he asked, "Need me to do _what_ , exactly?"

"Do-" Desmond started to answer, but then choked on his words and looked away, as if he was suddenly very interested in the generic nature painting on the motel wall.

William made a contemptuous huff.

Desmond took a breath. "I- I need _something_. Like... I'unno." He was suddenly bereft of any specific fantasies. "Nothing special, I guess. Just the usual fucking."

"The usual fucking," William repeated with dry acidity.

Desmond managed a quick glance back at him. Okay, maybe he'd worded that poorly, but he couldn't really bring himself to explain that he meant "the usual way you'd fuck me back when I was Janet".

William sighed heavily. "Desmond. If you can't even articulate it, doesn't that prove you don't really want it, because you know it's _wrong_?"

At this Desmond clapped his palm down on the table. "Who _says_ it's wrong? Some crumbly old book of legends about a guy who walked on water and turned people into pillars of salt for being gay? Or is it some stupid law _based_ on that book?" He got up and put his hands on William's shoulders. "We're fucking _Assassins_ , all right? We believe in fucking _freedom_ from that sort of bullshit."

William's eyes were drawn to the passion in Desmond's eyes, the heaving of his chest, the sweat glistening on his upper lip.

"You always taught me that, above all else, what matters is the Creed- _our_ Creed. And obviously we're not gonna hurt any innocents by doing this. And we're not gonna help the Templars or blow the mission either." Desmond dared a small smirk. "The only thing that might get blown... is this."

William flinched at the hand suddenly palming him through his pants, and tried to scoot out of reach, but he couldn't move without risking falling off his chair.

Desmond touched William's arm. "Just... just do this for me, okay? Please. I need it."

William let out a hot breath he didn't realize he'd been holding in. 

"Please?"

He pushed Desmond away, firmly but not aggressively, and stood up. "I'm going to shower," he said- as if none of their other dialogue had taken place- and headed over to the bathroom. " _You_ should go to _sleep_."

 

* * *

 

The motel's water was lukewarm at best, and the pressure was low, but William had had much worse for bathing facilities in the past. He scrubbed the runny shampoo over his hair and wondered how in the world he was supposed to deal with Desmond's... dilemma. Things were clearly worsening. _I'm just glad Janet isn't here to witness his mental decay,_ he thought with a sigh. _Sending her on a separate assignment was a tough call. She really wanted to see him again._

His eyes closed, and a remembrance of her sad face the last time they'd spoken came forth. _"You'll bring him back safe, won't you? Our precious little boy?"_

"He's not a 'little boy' any longer," William muttered to himself, same as he'd replied to Janet.

"Damn right I'm not."

William's eyes flew open- a dribble of shampoo ran into them- he squeezed them closed again and bit back a curse.

There was a soft sound: the shower curtain moving aside. "See you got some bruises on your back. When'd those happen?"

"Mgh. In the museum. They tackled me. Overpowered me."

"Oh. S'it hurt?"

Another soft sound- bare feet splishing onto ceramic- and William couldn't muster an answer to the question, now that Desmond was in the shower behind him.

The water streamed over them both. "You hurt anywhere else? You gonna need medical att-"

"No, I'll be fine."

Desmond's characteristic chuckle echoed on the bathroom walls. "Too bad this isn't the Renaissance, when pretty much all doctors were on the Assassin side."

"I said I'll be fine," William repeated, sharper. He wiped the last of the suds from his face and turned around, intending to glare at Desmond fiercely for this intrusion.

Instead of glaring, though-

Instead, he _stared_.

He didn't mean to stare, but the sight of Desmond stark naked under shower spray robbed him of much control.

"Uh. I figured we could share a shower?" Desmond said. "So the hot water doesn't get all used up?" His blush transparently gave away his true intentions, though. 

"Damn it, Desmond," William grumbled, shaking his head. "Stubborn as a mule."

"But way sexier than a mule. Right?" Desmond grinned a little.

William's eyes, having a will of their own, were following the water streaming down, from shoulder to torso to thick thatchy groin- _No! You cannot do this!_ He turned away again.

"Uh? Do you... not like what you see?"

"It doesn't matter what I like. You're my **son**." As soon as he said it, a taunt reminded him: _Not your son, according to Vidic._ He grit his teeth. _No. Vidic's a ruthless fiend. He'd lie to his own mother if it served the Templar cause. That was just some twisted mind game, I'm sure._

Desmond touched his back gently. "I think you deserve to have things you like."

William tried to think of a response but -oh lord- now Desmond was **hugging him** , gripping him firmly close in the tiny shower stall, and he felt a half-hardness growing into his lower back.

"I like you," Desmond whispered, and kissed the nape of his neck. "Well, heh... More than 'like', obviously."

The situation was becoming absolutely impossible. William groaned and leaned over to shut off the water.

"Uh?"

"Shower's over." He slammed the curtain open and got out, quickly wrapping up in a towel.

Desmond grabbed his arm. "Oh come **on** Bill!"

"I'm not fucking you in the shower," William spat hurriedly. "If we **must** do this, we're doing it on the bed."


	14. Throw Away All Of Your Questions

So. There they were, naked and still a little damp, sitting on two towels spread out over the bedsheets.

Desmond's body, sleek with youth, was quite a contrast to William's, a rolling landscape of muscular hills. Not that Desmond didn't have muscles of his own, no, but his were more smooth and supple, less thickly covered in hair.

 _Oh god, that hair_. Desmond stroked the short fur of one forearm.

William watched the hand move. It really wasn't an unpleasant touch, he had to admit. "I don't suppose that just looking and touching will sate your... need?"

"I, uh, don't think so." Desmond glanced into William's eyes. "I need you, Bill. All of you."

"All of me," William repeated vaguely.

Desmond moved his hand down from arm to thigh, not quite bold enough yet to touch what lay _between_ the thighs, but hoping the message would be clear nonetheless.

"I see." William wasn't feeling particularly bold right now either, but he figured the quicker this was done, the quicker they could try and forget about it. "Well.... Lie down, then."

Desmond's heartrate kicked up a notch as he complied. He wasn't sure at first whether to lie on his back or belly, but decided after a moment to go with face-up for now, in order to enjoy the view more. Maybe it was a trick of the light, but William's skin seemed to be a tad redder than usual. _Or maybe he's actually... aroused?_ Desmond dared to imagine it was so.

"This will probably hurt," William said bluntly. "Since we don't have lube."

The simple word 'lube' sounded impossibly erotic, and there went Desmond's heart again. "I, uh - I think I saw a little, y'know, hand lotion thing on the sink?"

William rolled his eyes. "Hand lotion? Really?"

"Here, I'll get it." Desmond jumped up, retrieved the teeny bottle, and pressed it into William's hand before he could object.

The lotion, labeled " _crema di cocco e aloe_ ", was a sort of watery off-brand type. William poured a bit into his hand and sniffed it. "Hmf. We can make do with this. If we must." He said this last with a hard squint into Desmond's eyes, giving him another chance to call the whole thing off.

"O-okay by me," Desmond said, the words hardly able to make it out past the excited lump in his throat. "So, uh." He shifted on the towel. "Let's get started?"

William noticed Desmond's increasing erection- he couldn't _not_ notice it, try as he might- and let out a small tense puff of air. "All right. Hold out your hand," he ordered. Desmond was puzzled, but went along with it, and received a dollop of lotion on his palm. "Use that to, ehm... prepare yourself."

Desmond was a bit disappointed, but dutifully set to work, half-closing his eyes to imagine his fingers were Bill's. He shuddered at the unforseen chill of the lotion and gasped at the still-new sensation of being touched _there_. And the thought that Bill was watching him thrilled through his chest, made him smile and tingle all over.

William actually wasn't watching. Not the "main event", anyway. The closest he would allow himself right now was looking at Desmond's quivering feet. "After we do this... you'll be able to fully focus on our work again?"

"F- for a li'l while, at least," Desmond said, voice a little squeaky. He'd considered for a moment saying the answer William wanted to hear- _Yeah, I'll be completely fine, all back to normal, hundred percent straight, hundred percent focused on Assassin business_ \- but deep in his heart, in his body, he knew that would be a blatant lie.

"A little while? How long is that?"

"Mn. I... dunno." Desmond fought back a lewd noise that tried to escape his throat. It wasn't easy carrying on a conversation while fingering one's own ass- he wasn't going _inside_ quite yet, but just rubbing over his virgin entrance was amping him up and making his toes curl. "Maybe... til after we find that a-amulet and stuff."

"That's not very long now, is it."

"Nnh. Yeah." Desmond stopped moving his fingers and opened his eyes hazily. "And after that, we agreed I could c-come home, right?"

William's jaw tightened. "Yes. But that was before I knew you had this... desire for me."

Desmond's breath hitched. "So you... don't want me around?"

"It may make things difficult," William said, shaking his head.

Desmond sat up abruptly, frowning now. "So, because it may be 'difficult' having me around, you wanna just never see me again."

William held up a pleading hand. "I just-"

"You just want me to _disappear into the ether_ after you're done using me for this fuckin' amulet quest. You asshole!"

"Shh, the other rooms might hear-"

"God, I can't believe I love you," Desmond muttered, dropping his face into his crossed arms. "Cause clearly you friggin' _hate_ me."

William heard a soft sob at the end of that sentence. It broke his resilient heart to see Desmond so suddenly fragile now, curled up on the damp towel, bereft of the confidence he'd shown at Abstergo. "Desmond. Son." He moved a little closer and touched Desmond's shoulder.

Desmond looked up at the unexpected touch.

"I do not _hate_ you. I have never hated you. I... I want you to be happy."

Desmond sniffed. "Happiness is in short supply for Assassins," he mumbled.

William did his best to smile reassuringly. "Well then. We'll just have to find it wherever we can."

Desmond leaned his head on William's chest. The shower's meager warmth had worn off now, it seemed, for his nipples were stiff with cold. He stayed quiet a bit, just letting himself bask in the man's presence. "...And if... if I need to find it by sleeping with you?"

"Then that is... acceptable." William patted his back once firmly. "For tonight, at least. We can work out the, ah, coming-home issue another day."

Desmond smiled and stroked William's chest hair. This night wasn't turning out quite like his fantasies, but hell, it was _real._ He was really here, skin-to-skin with his heart's and loins' desire.

Speaking of loins... He glanced down. Damn, that cock was a nice sight; still as impressive today as it ever was twenty-five years ago. He wanted to touch it, to kiss it, to run his tongue all along it- but it was probably best to just start with touching. He didn't want to scare Bill with any sudden moves, so he made sure to move very slowly and _un_ -stealthily as he reached for it.

William made a tense throaty "Mmh" sound as Desmond took hold of his shaft.

"Not like I have experience on gay stuff," Desmond said, grabbing the lotion with his other hand, "but I'm betting we need a little lube on your end of things too."

"Oh... yes," William breathed, his stiff posture melting a little.

Desmond smirked and drizzled a line of lotion on the hardening cock in his hand, then began to stroke. God, this was so fucking hot, seeing Bill start to come undone and lose that detached, emotionless Mentor persona.

"Oh. _Ohh._ "

Desmond shuddered, his own cock twitching just from the rumbling pleasure in Bill's voice. God, he hoped he wouldn't go off prematurely. "Uhrm. Lemme know when you're ready to move on to the, uh... the fucking part."

"I'll- _oh!_ " William's reply was cut off when Desmond did a fancy little wrist-turn on the next stroke. Dear lord, he hadn't expected his son to have an actual _technique_. He could practically feel the blood rushing from his head, being urged down into his cock, hot and pulsing and oh-so-slick in those nimble fingers. "Damn. You're _good_. H- have you... d-done this before?"

"Not in this lifetime," Desmond laughed. "Guess it's just in my genes." Hadn't he just thirty seconds ago said he didn't have experience in this? Maybe Bill was so intensely turned on he couldn't remember.

"You have- ohh- such _remarkable_ genes," William groaned, leaning his face on Desmond's shoulder, hands scrunching and bunching the thin towel beneath him.

"You got 'em too," Desmond said, giving Bill's cock a particularly good squeeze. "Like the genes for, mmh, staying hot through your whole life." He wanted to remember forever the insanely sexy way Bill's face looked as he grappled with rising waves of pleasure, the way his half-wet hair fell over his tight-shut eyes. He had the urge to jack himself off simultaneously, but fought it back. _I have to savor this night, make it last as long as possible, in case he never lets me do this kind of stuff with him again._ Instead he occupied his other hand by adding it into the mix of things, running his fingers through the sensually damp thickness of the hair that sprawled all over Bill's chest... then stomach... then thighs....

"Ohhh," William murred into Desmond's shoulder, "this is so wrong."

At those words, Desmond hesitated a moment.

William jerked his head up. "Do you want to stop?" he asked with sharp exasperation.

Desmond was sweating despite the chill air in the room. "N- no. I wanna keep going."

William's glare became a sly leer. "All right. Keep going, then," he said, more huskily than usual. "Finish what you started."

Desmond took in a loud breath and resumed his hand motions.

William tossed his head back, eyes closed. "Ohh yes. So wrong. So... naughty."

 _Holy shit, is he gonna start dirty-talking now?_ Desmond didn't know what to make of this. He just kept stroking and tugging at the thick firm cock, feeling rapid heartbeats throb through his body.

"You've become a _very_ naughty boy since you left us, haven't you?"

Desmond would have really preferred the sweeter pillow talk from Janet's memories- "precious" and the like- but he was really in a beggars-can't-be-choosers spot right now. "Y-yeah. Sure."

"Yesss. All those years working that sleazy bar in sleazy Brooklyn. Disgusting. So very- oh damn!" William hissed out the mild profanity when Desmond happened to try squeezing his balls a little.

"Shit, sorry!"

"No, don't- that felt..."

"...Felt good?"

William wiped off some sweat that was beading on his brow. "Just don't get... overzealous."

Desmond nodded, switching to gently caress the balls instead. Precum and more sweat was joining the lotion on Bill's cock now; it glistened in the lamplight, so full and taut and absolutely stunning.

"Oh, nng-" William bit his lip a moment, summoning the composure to speak again. "Tell me, n-naughty boy: h-how're we going to finish this?"

Desmond was startled as Bill's hips heaved once involuntarily, fucking up into his fingers. "Uh! I... I want you in me." _Shit, I really said it._

William smirked. "Be more specific."

"I want... _this_ cock," Desmond rolled it in his fingers, appreciating its heft and weight, "in my ass."

"That's what you want?"

"And _need_." Desmond was imagining it already. _Well, more like remembering it... Though it's gonna probably feel a bit different in my ass than Janet's._

"Then lie back down." William inclined his head in the direction of the pillows.

Again Desmond settled himself on his back, legs spread, heart pounding.

William crawled over and lifted the younger man's legs up and back. "Are you... ready?"

Desmond nodded. "Needa feel you inside me."

"Well then." William cleared his throat and looked around the room. "Are we sure the door is locked securely? And the window as well?"

 _Geez, of all the times for him to get paranoid._ "I only checked it about fifty times," Desmond said, grasping William's chin and directing his gaze back. "We're clear for you to fuck my naughty ass without anyone barging in, okay? So do it already."

William panted as he took in the rare sight of Desmond's body, laid out on display and waiting for him; the cool bronze skin beaded over with anticipatory sweat.

Desmond, too, was delirious with delight at what he could see right now. "God, Bill. Your cock looks so good, so long and hard. Hurry up and put it in me!"

William lifted Desmond's hips a bit more. No longer in the mood for dirty talk, he again felt trepidation for the act he was about to commit. "You're certain?"

"Need you," Desmond whined. There was a keen ache inside him, and nothing but _that cock_ would soothe the feeling, he knew. 

William let out a small sigh and pushed forward into the tight pucker. "Oh-ngh." He hadn't been prepared for the sudden warmth enveloping him.

Desmond shuddered and gasped, legs clenching over Bill's arms. "Oh Jesus!"

Concerned, William froze.

"Don't stop," Desmond begged.

"I don't want to hurt-"

"I'll be fine, jus' start slow, okay!" he said, hooking Bill in place with ankles in the small of his back.

William studied his smiling blissful face for a second or two before letting himself sink a little further in.

"Ohh," Desmond breathed, grabbing loosely at the back of Bill's head. "Yeah. Just like that." He was giddy even through the lingering pain. _This is actually happening! It's not a dream, not a memory, not a fantasy!_ Unfamiliar muscles twitching deep down sang a chorus of sensations, learning to loosen and accept this new experience.

"D-Desmond," William grunted, trying to stay focused as he gradually slid deeper.

Desmond had to take few moments and just breathe. So this was it; this was Bill's time-honored cock inside him. Fully inside him. "God, you're so big."

William couldn't respond with words, but just panted slowly against Desmond's neck.

Desmond arched his back up and ground into Bill, feeling his own cock sandwiched between them. "Ohh. This is niice."

"This is naughty," William answered in a hushed whisper.

"Yeah. But that's what makes it so nice. Mm." Desmond unhooked his ankles, freeing Bill from their grasp. "'Kay. I'm good. Y'can start moving now." He felt Bill slowly ease out, inch by precious inch, then sink back in. "Oh yeah. Fuck my naughty ass," he said again.

"Tell me how it feels."

"It's good. Ohh, so good." Desmond's heart beat all the way down into his fingertips as they skimmed over Bill's ear and traced the outline of his jaw. "It's- ah- everything I dreamed of!"

"Everything?" William asked, with a tantalizing edge to his voice.

"Yeah, but- I want it harder. Faster."

William grinned. "All right. If that's what you really want. Naughty boy." He gripped Desmond's thighs a little harder and began to actively thrust.

Desmond's mouth gaped open with the sudden intensity flooding his nerves. Ohh, what a _rush!_ This was the most alive he'd felt in _ages!_ He wanted it to last _forever!_

William made a rough guttural sound on each downstroke. At first his thrusts were shallow, cautious, but soon he was plunging fully balls-deep, not holding back anymore.

"Oh yes, give it to me!" Desmond couldn't get enough- he angled his hips as best he could to try and fit even _more_ of that perfect man-meat inside. "Fucking _fuck!_ " he yelled when it crashed past something hard behind the base of his cock and he couldn't stop himself clenching tight and tossing his head back. "Right there, yeah, that's the spot," he ground out through his teeth.

"Naughty," William said once more.

"Yeah, oh, I'm so naughty! Oh! Punish me! Ah!" This dirty talk wasn't half-bad, Desmond decided. "Keep going! I- I haven't learned my lesson yet, Mentor! I need more!"

"I, ah!" William's eyelids fluttered erratically. "C-can't go much more... I'm going to..."

"Do it!" Desmond begged. "Cum in me! Fill me up, Bill! I want it all!" He no longer spared a thought to who might overhear them; the single obsession driving him now was his lustful need.

William's whole body jolted, head-to-toe, and his breaths became even rougher and hotter on Desmond's chest. He managed one, two more in-and-out cycles before driving forward a final forceful time- Desmond made a tiny shriek at the unexpected roughness- and then he dropped his head to Desmond's shoulder and groaned, long and incoherent.

Desmond's body couldn't stop the rhythm it had found, but kept jerking up, frotting his swollen and sensitive cock between their abs as long jets of Bill's warm seed tingled inside him. "S-so good! Feels like- _oh!_ " He wrapped his arms around Bill's neck suddenly and moaned out his name, emptying his own spunk in a splash that had him seeing stars.

They were frozen there for several ticks of the bedside table clock.

"God, Desmond," William whispered, like his throat was sore from overuse. "Th... that..."

Desmond kissed the top of his forehead. "So good."

William pulled out, gasping for breath, and shifted stiffly to the other side of the bed. "I... we really just-"

"Yeah, we did." Desmond was still reeling from his orgasm. "And it was... _fantastic_. Thank you."

"Thank..."

"You liked it too, huh?"

Hazily, William wiped his cock and stomach off with a corner of the towel. "We... I... That..." Eventually he gave up on whatever thought he'd been trying to express there, and got totteringly to his feet, heading across the room in order to dress for bed. "It's late." A heavy pause. "We have more travel tomorrow." He tossed Desmond a long shirt from their suitcase.

Desmond caught it deftly. "Right. Gotta hit the hay." Still smiling aimlessly around the room, he slipped the shirt on and slid his legs under the blanket. "G'night, precious."

"Goodnight..." William paused again as he came around to the bedside table.

Desmond waited, holding his breath.

"...my precious son."

The lamplight flicked off. Desmond's smile grew even wider.


End file.
